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MY   DAY 

REMINISCENCES   OF  A   LONG  LIFE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


MRS.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR. 


MY    DAY 

REMINISCENCES    OF    A    LONG 
LIFE 


BY 


MRS.  ROGER   A.   PRYOR 

AUTHOR    OF    "REMINISCENCES    OF    PEACE    AND    WAR," 

"THE    MOTHER    OF    WASHINGTON    AND    HER 

TIMES,"     ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 
THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1909 

All  rights  reserved 


LIBRARY 


COPYRIGHT,   1909, 
BY  THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  October,  1909. 


J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  — Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


tbe  /Remote  of 

/IDS  Son 
TTbeofcorfcfc  Blanfc 


/  stood  at  dawn  by  a  limitless  sea 

And  watched  the  rose  creep  over  the  gray  ; 

Till  the  heavens  were  a  glowing  canopy  ! 
This  was  my  day  ! 

The  pale  stars  stole  away,  one  by  one  — 

Like  sensitive  souls  from  the  presence  of  Pride  : 

The  moon  bung  low,  looking  back,  as  the  sun 
Rose  over  the  tide. 

And  he,  like  a  King,  came  up  from  the  Sea  ! 

He  opened  my  rose  —  unfettered  my  song  — 
And  quickened  a  heart  to  be  true  to  me 

All  the  day  long. 

The  soul  that  was  born  of  a  song  and  flower 
Of  tender  dawn-flush,  and  shadowy  grayt 

Was  strengthened  by  Love  for  a  bitter  hour 
That  chilled  my  day. 

I  had  dwelt  in  the  garden  of  the  Lord! 

I  had  gathered  the  sweets  of  a  summer  day  : 
I  was  called  to  stand  where  a  flaming  sword 

Turned  every  way. 

It  spared  not  the  weak  —  nor  the  strong — nor  the  dear  ; 

And following  fast ',  like  a  phantom  band, 
Famine  and  Fever  and  shuddering  Fear 

Swept  o>  er  the  land. 

They  whispered  that  Hope,  the  angel  of  light. 

Would  spread  her  white  wings  and  speed  her  away  ; 

But  she  folded  me  close  in  my  longest  night 
And  darkest  day. 


As  of  old,  when  the  f  re  and  tempest  bad  passed. 

And  an  earthquake  bad  riven  the  rocks,  the  Word 

In  a  still  small  voice  rose  over  the  blast  — 
The  Voice  of  the  Lord. 

And  the  Voice  said:  "Take  up  your  lives  again  ! 

Quit  yourselves  manfully  !     Stand  in  your  lot! 
Let  the  Famine,  the  Fever,  the  Peril,  the  Pain, 

Be  all  forgot ! 

<(  Weep  no  more  for  the  lovely,  the  brave, 

The  young  head  pillowed  on  a  blood-stained  sod ; 

The  daisy  that  grows  on  the  soldier's  grave 
Looks  up  to  God! 

t(  The  soul  of  the  patriot-soldier  stands 

With  a  mighty  host  in  eternal  calm. 
And  He  who  pressed  the  sword  to  his  hands 

Has  given  the  Palm" 


And  now  I  stand  with  my  face  to  the  west, 
Shading  mine  eyes,  for  my  glorious  sun 

Is  splendid  again  as  he  sinks  to  his  rest  — 
His  day  is  done. 

I  have  lost  my  rose,  forgotten  my  song, 

But  the  true  heart  that  loved  me  is  mine  alway  / 

The  stars  are  alight  —  the  way  not  long  — 
/  had  my  day  ! 

November  8,  1908. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor.      From  a  Photograph,  1900    .    Frontispiece 


FACING    PAGE 


Residence  of  Dr.  S.  P.  Hargrave    .....        43 

Mrs.  Fanny  Bland  Randolph  .          .          .          .          .71 

University  of  Virginia  .  .          .          .          .          .          •        75 

Stephen  A.  Douglas     .          .          .          .          .          .          .85 

William  Walker .          .          .- 121 

Washington  in  1845 138 

General  Robert  E.  Lee  in  1861      .          .          .          .          .      208 
Theodorick  Bland  Pryor         .          .          .          .          .          .344 

William  Rice  Pryor 348 

Charlotte  Cushman       .          .          .          .          .          .          •      359 

Helena  Modjeska          .          .          .          .          .          .          .362 

General  Hancock 371 

General  Sheridan          .          .          .          .          .          .          •      377 

Mrs.  Vincenzo  Botta   .          .          .          .          .          .          .403 

Judge  Roger  A.  Pryor  in  1900       .....      447 


ix 


MY    DAY 


CHAPTER    I 


INTRODUCTORY 

I   AM  constrained  to  encourage  a  possible  reader 
by  assuring  him  that  I  have  no  intention  what 
ever    of     writing    strictly     an     autobiography. 
Nothing  in  myself  nor  in  my  life  would  warrant  me 
in  so  doing. 

I  might,  perhaps,  except  the  story  of  the  Civil 
War,  and  my  part  in  the  trials  and  sorrows  of  my 
fellow-women,  but  this  story  I  have  fully  and  truly 
told  in  my  "  Reminiscences  of  Peace  and  War." 

My  countrymen  were  so  kind  to  these  first  stories 
that  I  feel  I  may  claim  some  credentials  as  a  "  bab 
bler  of  Reminiscences."  Besides,  I  have  lived  in 
the  last  two-thirds  of  the  splendid  nineteenth  cen 
tury,  and  have  known  some  of  the  men  and  women 
who  made  that  century  notable.  And  I  would  fain 
believe  with  Mr.  Trollope  that  "  the  small  records 
of  an  unimportant  individual  life,  the  memories  which 
happen  to  linger  in  the  brain  of  the  old  like  bits  of 
drift-wood  floating  round  and  round  in  the  eddies 
of  a  back-water,  can  more  vividly  than  anything 
else  bring  before  the  young  of  the  present  genera- 


2  My  Day 

tion  those  ways  of  acting  and  thinking  and  talking 
in  the  everyday  affairs  of  life  which  indicate  the 
differences  between  themselves  and  their  grand 
fathers." 

But  I  shall  have  more  than  this  "  floating  drift 
wood"  to  reward  the  reader  who  will  follow  me  to 
the  end  of  my  story! 

Writers  of  Reminiscences  are  interested  —  per 
haps  more  interested  than  their  readers  —  in  recall 
ing  their  earliest  sensations,  and  through  them 
determining  at  what  age  they  had  "  found  them 
selves  "  ;  i.e.  become  conscious  of  their  own  person 
ality  and  relation  to  the  world  they  had  entered. 

Long  before  this  time  the  child  has  seen  and 
learned  more  perhaps  than  he  ever  learned  after 
wards  in  the  same  length  of  time.  He  has 
acquired  knowledge  of  a  language  sufficient  for 
his  needs.  His  miniature  world  has  been,  in 
many  respects,  a  foreshadowing  of  the  world  he 
will  know  in  his  maturity.  He  has  learned  that  he 
is  a  citizen  of  a  country  with  laws,  —  some  of  which 
it  will  be  prudent  to  obey,  —  such  as  the  law  against 
taking  unpermitted  liberties  with  the  cat,  or  touching 
the  flame  of  the  candle ;  while  other  laws  may  be 
evaded  by  cleverness  and  discreet  behavior.  He 
finds  around  him  many  things ;  pictures  on  walls, 
for  instance,  that  may  be  admired  but  never  touched, 

—  other  lovely  things  that  may  be  handled  and  even 
kissed,  but  must  be  returned  to  mantels  and  tables, 

—  and  yet  others,  not  near  as  delightful  as  these, 
"poor  things  but  his  own,"  to  be  caressed  or  beaten, 
or  even  broken  at  his  pleasure.     He  has  learned  to 


Introductory  3 

indulge  his  natural  taste  for  the  drama.  His  nurse 
covers  her  head  with  a  paper  and  becomes  the  dread 
ful,  groaning  villain  behind  it,  while  the  baby  girds 
himself  for  attack,  tears  the  disguise  from  the  vil 
lain,  and  shouts  his  victory.  As  he  learns  the 
names  and  peculiarities  of  animals,  the  scope  of  the 
drama  widens.  He  is  a  spirited  horse,  snorting  and 
charging  along,  or  —  if  his  picture-books  have  been 
favorable  —  a  roaring  lion  from  whom  the  nurse 
flees  in  terror.  Of  the  domestic  play  there  is  infi 
nite  variety  —  nursing  in  sickness,  the  doctor,  baby- 
tending,  cooking,  —  and  once,  alas  !  I  heard  a  baby 
girl  of  eighteen  months  enact  a  fearful  quarrel  be 
tween  man  and  wife,  ending  firmly  "  I  leave  you  ! 
I  never  come  back  !  " 

These  natural  tendencies  of  children  would  seem 
to  prove  that  the  soul  or  mind  of  man  can  be 
"  fetched  up  from  the  cradle  "  —  a  phrase  for  which 
I  am  indebted  to  one  of  my  contemporaries,  Mr. 
Leigh  Hunt,  who  in  turn  quoted  it  as  a  popular 
phrase  in  his  late  (and  my  early)  day.  But  with 
the  single  exception  of  the  spoken  language  all 
these  childish  plays  have  been  successfully  taught 
to  our  humble  brothers ;  to  our  poor  relation  the 
monkey,  the  dog,  elephant,  seal,  canary  bird  — 
even  to  fleas.  All  these  are  capable  of  enacting  a 
short  drama.  The  elephant,  longing  for  his  bottle, 
never  rings  his  bell  too  soon.  The  dog  remembers 
his  cue,  watches  for  it,  and  never  anticipates  it. 
The  seal,  more  wonderful  than  all,  born  as  he  has 
been  without  arms  or  legs,  mounts  a  horse  for  a 
ride,  and  waits  for  his  umbrella  to  be  poised  on  his 


4  My  Day 

stubby  nose.  Even  the  creature  whose  name  is  a 
synonym  for  vulgar  stupidity  has  been  taught  to 
indicate  with  porcine  finger  the  letters  which  spell 
that  name. 

With  these  and  other  animals  we  hold  in  common 
our  faculty  of  imitation,  our  memory,  affection,  an 
tipathy,  revenge,  gratitude,  passionate  adoration  of 
one  special  friend,  and  even  the  perception  of  music 
—  the  infant  will  weep  and  the  poodle  howl  in  re 
sponse  to  the  same  strain  in  a  minor  key  —  and  yet, 
notwithstanding  this  common  lot,  this  common  in 
heritance,  there  is  born  for  us  and  not  for  them  a 
moment  when  some  strange  unseen  power  breathes 
into  us  something  akin  to  consciousness  of  a  living 
soul. 

Having  no  past  as  a  standard  for  the  reasonable 
and  natural,  nothing  surprises  children.  They  are 
simply  witnesses  of  a  panorama  in  the  moving  scenes 
of  which  they  have  no  part.  When  I  was  three 
years  old,  I  visited  my  grandfather  in  Charlotte 
County.  The  Staunton  River  wound  around  his 
plantation  and  I  was  often  taken  out  rowing  with 
my  aunts.  One  day  the  canoe  tipped  and  my  pretty 
Aunt  Elizabeth  fell  overboard.  Without  the  slight 
est  emotion  I  saw  her  fall,  and  saw  her  recovered. 
For  aught  I  knew  to  the  contrary  it  was  usual  and 
altogether  proper  for  young  ladies  to  fall  in  rivers 
and  be  fished  out  by  their  long  hair.  But  another 
event,  quite  ordinary,  overwhelmed  me  with  the 
most  passionate  distress.  Having,  a  short  time  be 
fore,  advanced  a  tentative  finger  for  an  experimental 
taste  of  an  apple  roasting  for  me  at  my  grandfathers 


Introductory  5 

fire,  I  was  prepared  to  be  shocked  at  seeing  a  colony 
of  ants  rush  madly  about  upon  wood  a  servant  was 
laying  over  the  coals.  My  cries  of  distress  arrested 
my  grandfather  as  he  passed  through  the  room.  He 
quickly  ordered  the  sticks  to  be  taken  off,  and  call 
ing  me  to  a  seat  in  front  of  him,  said  gravely  :  "  We 
will  try  these  creatures  and  see  if  they  deserve  pun 
ishment.  Evidently  they  have  invaded  our  country. 
The  question  is,  did  they  come  of  their  own  accord, 
or  were  they  while  enjoying  their  rights  of  life  and 
liberty,  captured  by  us  and  brought  hither  against 
their  will?'1  My  testimony  was  gravely  taken.  I 
was  quite  positive  I  had  seen  the  sticks,  swarming 
with  ants,  laid  upon  the  fire.  "  Uncle  Peter,"  who 
had  brought  in  the  wood,  was  summoned  and  sharply 
cross-questioned.  Nothing  could  shake  him.  To 
the  best  of  his  knowledge  and  belief,  "  them  ants 
nuvver  come  'thouten  they  was  'bleeged  to,"  and 
so,  as  they  were  by  this  time  wildly  scampering  over 
the  floor,  they  were  gently  admonished  by  a  per 
suasive  broom  to  leave  the  premises.  Uncle  Peter 
was  positive  they  would  find  their  way  home  with 
out  difficulty,  and  I  was  comforted. 

I  remember  this  little  incident  perfectly ;  I  can 
see  my  dear  grandfather,  his  white  hair  tied  with  a 
black  ribbon  en  queue,  advancing  his  stick  like  a  staff 
of  office.  I  claim  that  then  and  there  —  three  years 
old  —  I  found  myself,  "fetched  up  my  soul"  from 
somewhere,  almost  "  from  the  cradle,"  inasmuch  as 
I  had  pitied  the  unfortunate,  unselfishly  espoused 
his  cause,  and  won  for  him  consideration  and  justice. 

Writers  of  fiction  are  supposed  to  present,  as  in 


6  My  Day 

a  mirror,  the  truth  as  it  is  found  in  nature.  They 
are  fond  of  hinting  that  at  some  moment  in  the  early 
life  of  every  individual  something  occurs  which  fore 
shadows  his  fate,  something  which  if  interpreted - 
like  the  dreams  of  the  ancient  Hebrews  —  would  tell 
us  without  the  aid  of  gypsy,  medium,  or  clairvoyant 
the  things  we  so  ardently  desire  to  know.  In  Dan 
iel  Deronda,  Gwendolyn,  in  her  moment  of  triumph, 
touches  a  spring  in  a  panel,  which,  sliding  back,  re 
veals  a  picture,  —  the  upturned  face  of  a  drowning 
man.  In  Lewis  Rand,  Jacqueline,  the  bride  of  half 
an  hour,  hears  the  story  of  a  duel  —  and  the  pistol- 
shot  echoes  ever  after  through  her  brain,  filling  it 
with  insistent  foreboding. 

We  might  recall  illustrations  of  similar  foreshad 
owing  in  real  life.  For  instance,  Jean  Carlyle,  six 
years  old,  beautiful  and  vivid  as  a  tropical  bird, 
stands  before  an  audience  to  sing  her  little  song ; 
and  waits  in  vain  for  her  accompanist.  Finally 
she  throws  her  apron  over  her  head  and  runs  away 
in  confusion.  She  was  prepared,  she  knew  her  part ; 
but  the  support  was  lacking,  the  accompaniment 
failed  her.  It  was  not  given  to  him  who  told  the 
story  to  perceive  the  prophecy ! 

Were  I  fanciful  enough  to  fix  upon  one  moment 
as  prophetic  of  my  life  —  as  a  key-note  to  the  con 
trolling  principle  of  that  life —  I  might  recall  the  in 
cident  in  my  grandfather's  room,  when  I  ceased  to  be 
merely  an  inert  absorber  of  light  and  warmth  and 
comfort,  and  became  aware  of  the  pain  in  the  world  — 
pain  which  I  passionately  longed  to  alleviate. 


CHAPTER   II 

I  HAD  a  childless  aunt,  who  annually  came  up 
from  her  home  in  Hanover  to  spend  part  of  the 
summer  with  my  parents  and  my  grandfather. 
She  begged  me  of  my  mother  for  a  visit,  meant  to  be 
a  brief  one,  and  as  she  was  greatly  loved  and  respected 
by  her  people,  I  was  permitted  to  return  with  her. 

There  were  no  railroads  in  Virginia  at  that  time. 
All  journeys  were  made  in  private  conveyances.  The 
great  coach-and-four  had  disappeared  after  the  Revo 
lution.  The  carriage  and  pair,  with  the  goatskin 
hair  trunk  strapped  on  behind,  or  —  in  case  the 
journey  were  long  —  a  light  wagon  for  baggage,  were 
now  enough  for  the  migratory  Virginian. 

He  lived  at  home  except  for  the  three  summer 
months,  when  it  was  his  invariable  rule  to  visit  Sara 
toga,  or  the  White  Sulphur,  Warm,  and  Sweet 
Springs,  of  Virginia,  making  a  journey  to  the  latter, 
in  something  less  than  a  week,  now  accomplished 
from  New  York  in  eight  or  nine  hours. 

The  carriage  on  high  springs  creaked  and  rocked 
like  a  ship  at  sea.  Fortunately,  it  was  well  cushioned 
and  padded  within  — and  furnished  at  the  four  cor 
ners  with  broad  double  straps  through  which  the  arms 
of  the  passenger  could  be  thrust  to  steady  himself 
withal.  He  needed  them  in  the  pitching  and  jolting 
over  therocks  and  ruts  of  dreadful  roads.  Inside  each 
door  were  ample  pockets  for  sundry  comforts — bis- 

7 


8  My  Day 

cuits,  sandwiches,  apples,  restorative  medicines  and 
cordials,  books  and  papers.  A  flight  of  three  or  four 
carpeted  steps  was  folded  inside  the  door.  Twenty- 
five  miles  were  considered  "a  day's  journey,"  quite 
enough  for  any  pair  of  horses.  At  noon  the  latter 
were  rested  under  the  shade  of  trees  near  some  spring 
or  clear  brook,  the  carriage  cushions  were  laid  out,  and 
the  luncheon  !  Well,  I  cannot  presume  to  be  greater 
than  the  greatest  of  all  our  American  artists,  —  he 
who  could  mould  a  hero  in  bronze  and  make  him 
live  again  ;  and  hold  us,  silent  and  awed,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  mysterious  and  unspeakable  grief  of  a 
woman  in  marble  !  Has  he  not  confessed  that  al 
though  he  remembers  an  early  perception  of  beauty 
in  sky  and  sea,  and  field  and  wood  —  the  memory 
that  has  followed  him  vividly  through  life  is  of  odors 
from  a  baker's  oven,  and  from  apples  stewing  in  a 
German  neighbor's  kitchen?  Hot  gingerbread  and 
spiced,  sugared  apples  !  I  should  say  so,  indeed ! 

In  just  such  a  carriage  as  I  have  described,  I  set 
forth  with  my  strange  aunt  and  uncle  —  a  little 
three-and-a-half-year-old  !  At  night  we  slept  in  some 
country  tavern,  surrounded  by  whispering  aspen 
trees.  A  sign  in  front,  swung  like  a  gibbet,  promised 
"  Refreshment  for  man  and  beast."  Invariably  the 
landlord,  grizzled,  portly,  and  solemn,  was  lying  at 
length  on  a  bench  in  his  porch  or  lounging  in  a  "  split- 
bottom  chair"  with  his  feet  on  the  railing.  He  had 
seen  our  coming  from  afar.  He  was  eager  for  cus 
tom,  but  he  had  dignity  to  maintain.  Lifting  him 
self  slowly  from  his  bench  or  chair,  he  would  lei 
surely  come  forward,  and  hesitatingly  "  reckon" 


My  Day  9 

he  could  accommodate  us.  I  was  mortally  afraid  of 
him  !  Sinking  into  one  of  his  deep  feather  beds,  I 
trembled  for  my  life  and  wept  for  my  mother. 

Finally  one  night,  wearied  out  with  the  long 
journey,  we  turned  into  an  avenue  of  cedars  and 
neared  our  home.  My  aunt  and  uncle,  on  the 
cushions  of  the  back  seat,  little  dreamed  of  the  dire 
resolve  of  the  small  rebel  in  front.  Like  the  ants, 
I  had  been  brought,  against  my  will,  to  a  strange 
country.  I  silently  determined  I  would  not  be  a 
good  little  girl.  I  would  be  as  naughty  as  I  could, 
give  all  the  trouble  I  could,  and  force  them  to  send 
me  home  again.  But  with  the  morning  sun  came 
perfect  contentment,  which  soon  blossomed  into 
perfect  happiness.  From  my  bed  I  ran  out  in  my 
bare  feet  to  a  lovely  veranda  shaded  by  roses.  On 
one  of  the  latticed  bars  a  little  wren  bobbed  his  head 
in  greeting,  and  poured  out  his  silver  thread  of  a 
song.  Gabriella,  the  great  tortoise-shell  cat,  with 
high  uplifted  tail,  wooed  and  won  me ;  and  when 
Milly,  black  and  smiling,  captured  me,  it  was  to  intro 
duce  me  to  an  adorable  doll  and  a  little  rocking-chair. 

From  that  hour  until  I  married  I  was  the 
happy  queen  of  the  household,  the  one  whose 
highest  good  was  wisely  considered  and  for  whose 
happiness  all  the  rest  lived. 

The  bond  between  my  aunt  and  her  small  niece 
could  never  be  sundered,  and  as  she  was  greatly 
loved  and  trusted,  and  as  many  children  blessed  my 
own  dear  mother,  I  was  practically  adopted  as  the 
only  child  of  my  aunt  and  uncle,  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Samuel  Pleasants  Hargrave. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  general  impression  I  retain  of  the  world  of 
my  childhood  is  of  gardens  —  gardens  every 
where  ;  abloom  with  roses,  lilies,  violets,  jon 
quils,  flowering  almond-trees  which  never  fruited, 
double-flowering  peach  trees  which  also  bore  no 
fruit,  but  were,  with  the  almond  trees,  cherished  for 
the  beauty  of  their  blossoms.  And  conservatories! 
These  began  deep  in  the  earth  and  were  built  two 
stories  high  at  the  back  of  the  house.  They  were 
entered  by  steps  going  down  and  only  thus  were 
they  entered.  Windows  opened  into  them  from 
the  parlor  (always  "  parlor,"  —  not  drawing-room) 
or  from  my  lady's  chamber.  On  the  floor  were 
great  tubs  of  orange  and  lemon  trees  and  the 
gorgeous  flowering  pomegranate.  Along  the  walls 
were  shelves  reached  by  short  ladders,  and  on  these 
shelves  were  ranged  cacti,  gardenias  (Cape  Jessamine, 
or  jasmine,  as  we  knew  this  queen  of  flowers), 
abutilon,  golden  globes  of  lantana,  and  the  much- 
prized  snowy  Camellia  Japonica,  sure  to  sent  packed 
in  cotton  as  gifts  to  adorn  the  dusky  tresses  of 
some  Virginia  beauty,  or  clasp  the  folds  of  her 
diaphanous  kerchief.  These  camellias,  long  before 
they  were  immortalized  by  the  younger  Dumas,  were 
reckoned  the  most  poetic  and  elegant  of  all  flowers 
—  so  pure  and  sensitive,  resenting  the  profanation 
of  the  slightest  touch.  No  cavalier  of  that  day 


10 


My  Day  n 

would  present  to  his  ladye  faire  the  simple  flowers 
we  love  to-day.  These  would  come  fast  enough 
with  the  melting  of  the  snows  early  in  February. 

I  have  never  forgotten  the  ecstasy  of  one  of  these 
early  February  mornings.  Mittened  and  hooded  I 
ran  down  the  garden  walk  from  which  the  snow  had 
been  swept  and  piled  high  on  either  side.  Delicious 
little  rivers  were  running  down  and  I  launched  a 
mighty  fleet  of  leaves  and  sticks.  Suddenly  I  beheld 
a  miracle.  The  snow  was  lying  thickly  all  around, 
but  the  sun  had  melted  it  from  a  south  bank,  and 
white  violets  —  hundreds  of  them  —  had  popped 
out.  I  spread  my  apron  on  the  clean  snow  and 
filled  it  with  the  cool,  crisp  blossoms.  Running  in 
exultant  I  poured  my  treasure  into  my  dear  aunt's 
lap  as  she  sat  on  a  low  chair  which  brought  my  head 
just  on  a  level  with  her  bosom.  Ah  !  Like  St. 
Gaudens,  I  remember  the  gingerbread  and  apples!  — 
but  I  remember  the  violets  also! 

I  can  see  myself  in  the  early  hot  summer,  sent 
forth  to  breathe  the  cool  air  of  the  morning.  What 
a  paradise  of  sweets  met  my  senses !  The  squares, 
crescents,  and  circles  edged  with  box,  over  which  an 
enchanted  glistening  veil  had  been  thrown  during 
the  night;  the  tall  lilacs,  snowballs,  myrtles,  and 
syringas,  guarding  like  sentinels  the  entrance  to  every 
avenue ;  the  glowing  beds  of  tulips,  pinks,  purple 
iris,  "  bleeding  hearts,"  flowering  almond  with  rosy 
spikes,  lily-of-the-valley  !  I  scanned  them  all  with 
curious  eyes.  Did  I  not  know  that  the  fairies,  rid 
ing  on  butterflies,  had  visited  each  one  and  painted 
it  during  the  night  ?  Did  I  not  know  that  these 


12  My  Day 

same  fairies  had  hung  their  cups  on  the  grass,  and 
danced  so  long  that  the  cups  grew  fast  to  the  blades 
of  grass  and  became  lilies-of-the-valley  ?  I  knew  all 
this  —  although  my  dear  aunt  never  approved  of 
fairy  tales  and  gave  me  no  fairy-tale  books.  Cousin 
Charles  believed  them  ;  moreover,  I  had  a  charming 
picture  of  a  fairy,  riding  on  a  butterfly.  Of  course 
they  were  true. 

But  I  always  hurried  along,  with  small  delay, 
among  the  flower  beds.  I  knew  where  the  passion- 
vine  had  dropped  golden  globes  of  fruit  during  the 
night  —  and  I  knew  well  where  the  cool  figs,  rimy 
with  the  early  dew,  were  bursting  with  scarlet  sweet 
ness.  Tell  me  not  of  your  acrid  grape-fruit,  or  far 
fetched  orange,  wherewithal  to  break  the  morning 
fast !  I  know  of  something  better.  Alas  !  neither 
you  nor  I  can  ever  again  —  except  in  fancy  —  cool 
our  lips  with  the  dew-washed  fruits  of  an  "  old  Vir 
ginia  "  garden. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  life  we  led  at  Cedar  Grove 
and  Shrubbery  Hill  was  busy  beyond  all  parallel. 
Everything  the  family  and  the  plantation  needed 
was  manufactured  at  home,  except  the  fine  fabrics, 
the  perfumes,  wines,  etc.,  which  were  brought  from 
Richmond,  Baltimore,  or  Philadelphia.  Everything, 
from  the  goose-quill  pen  to  carpets,  bedspreads, 
coarse  cotton  cloth,  and  linsey-woolsey  for  servants* 
clothing,  was  made  at  home.  Even  corset-laces 
were  braided  of  cotton  threads,  the  corset  itself  of 
home  manufacture. 

Miss  Betsey,  the  housekeeper,  was  the  busiest  of 
women.  Besides  her  everlasting  pickling,  preserving, 


My  Day  13 

and  cake-baking,  she  was  engaged,  with  my  aunt,  in 
mysterious  incantations  over  cordials,  tonics,  camo 
mile,  wild  cherry,  bitter  bark,  and  "  vinegar  of  the 
four  thieves,"  to  be  used  in  sickness. 

The  recipe  for  the  latter  —  well  known  in  Virginia 
households  a  century  ago  —  was  probably  brought 
by  Thomas  Jefferson  from  France  in  1794.  He 
was  a  painstaking  collector  of  everything  of  practical 
value.  To  this  day  there  exists  in  the  French  drug 
gists'  code  a  recipe  known  as  the  "  Vinaigre  des 
Quatre  Voleurs";  and  it  is  that  given  by  con 
demned  malefactors  who,  according  to  official  records 
still  existing  in  France,  entered  deserted  houses  in 
the  city  of  Marseilles  during  a  yellow  fever  epi 
demic  in  the  seventeenth  century  and  carried  off 
immense  quantities  of  plunder.  They  seemed  to 
possess  some  method  of  preserving  themselves  from 
the  scourge.  Being  finally  arrested  and  condemned 
to  be  burned  to  death,  an  offer  was  made  to  change 
the  method  of  inflicting  their  punishment  if  they 
would  reveal  their  secret.  The  condemned  men 
then  confessed  that  they  always  wore  over  their  faces 
handkerchiefs  that  had  been  saturated  in  strong  vine 
gar  and  impregnated  with  certain  ingredients,  the 
principal  one  being  bruised  garlic. 

The  recipe,  still  preserved  in  the  Randolph  family 
of  Virginia,  is  an  odd  one  —  with  a  homely  flavor  — 
hardly  to  be  expected  of  a  French  formula.  It  re 
quires  simply  "  lavender,  rosemary,  sage,  wormwood, 
rue  and  mint,  of  each  a  large  handful;  put  them  in 
a  pot  of  earthenware,  cover  the  pot  closely,  and  put 
a  board  on  the  top  ;  keep  it  in  the  hottest  sun  two 


14  My  Day 

weeks,  then  strain  and  bottle  it,  putting  in  each  a 
clove  of  garlic.  When  it  has  settled  in  the  bottle 
and  becomes  clear,  pour  it  off  gently  ;  do  this  until 
you  get  it  all  free  from  sediment.  The  proper  time 
to  make  it  is  when  herbs  are  in  full  vigor,  in 
June." 

Only  a  housewife,  who  lived  in  an  age  of  abun 
dant  leisure,  could  afford  to  interest  herself  for  two 
weeks  in  the  preparation  of  a  bottle  of  the  "  Vinegar 
of  the  Four  Thieves."  The  housekeeper  of  to-day 
can  steep  her  herbs,  then  strain  them  through  one 
of  the  fine  sieves  in  her  pantry,  the  whole  operation 
costing  little  labor  and  time,  with  perhaps  as  good 
results.  If  she  is  inclined  to  make  the  experiment, 
she  will  achieve  a  decoction  which  has  the  merit  at 
least  of  romance,  the  secret  of  its  combination  hav 
ing  been  purchased  by  sparing  the  lives  of  four  dis 
tinguished  Frenchmen,  with  the  present  practical 
value  of  providing  a  refreshing  prophylactic  for  the 
sick  room,  —  provided  the  lavender,  rosemary,  sage, 
wormwood,  rue,  and  mint  completely  stifle  the  clove 
of  garlic ! 

Pepper  and  spices  were  pounded  in  marble  mor 
tars.  Sugar  was  purchased  in  the  bulk — in  large 
cones  wrapped  in  thick  blue  paper.  This  was 
broken  into  great  slices,  and  then  subdivided  into 
cubes  by  means  of  a  knife  and  hammer. 

Sometimes  a  late  winter  storm  would  overtake 
the  new-born  lambs,  and  they  would  be  found  for 
saken  by  the  flock.  The  little  shivering  creatures 
would  be  brought  to  a  shelter,  and  fed  with  warm 
milk  from  the  long  bottles,  in  which  even  now 


My  Day  15 

we  get  Farina  Cologne.  Soft  linen  was  wrapped 
around  the  slender  neck,  and  my  dear  aunt  fed 
the  nurslings  with  her  own  white  hands.  How  the 
lambkins  could  wag  their  tiny  tails  !  and  how 
they  grew  and  prospered  ! 

All  the  fine  muslins  of  the  family,  my  aunt's 
great  collars,  and  the  ruffles  worn  by  my  uncle, 
my  Cousin  Charles,  and  myself,  were  carefully  laun 
dered  under  my  aunt's  supervision.  Dipped  in 
pearly  starch,  they  were  "  clapped  dry "  in  our 
own  hands,  ironed  with  small  irons,  and  beautifully 
crimped  on  a  board  with  a  penknife.  Fine  linen 
was  a  kind  of  hall-mark  by  which  a  gentleman  was 
"  known  in  the  gates  when  he  "  sat  "  among  the 
elders  of  the  land." 

I  was  intensely  interested  in  all  this  busy  life  — 
and  always  eager  to  be  a  part  of  it. 

There  was  nothing  I  had  not  attempted  before  I 
rounded  my  first  decade, —  churning,  printing  the 
butter  with  wooden  moulds,  or  shaping  it  into  a 
bristling  pineapple ;  spinning  on  tiptoe  at  the  great 
wheel  —  we  had  no  flax-wheels  —  and  even  once 
scrambling  up  to  the  high  seat  of  the  weaver  and 
sending  the  shuttle  into  hopeless  tangles.  "  Ladies 
don't  nuvver  do  dem  things "  sternly  rebuked 
Milly.  "  Lemme  ketch  you  ergin  at  dat  busi 
ness,  an'  'twont  be  wuf  while  for  Marse  Chawles 
to  baig  for  you." 

The  inconsistencies  as  to  proprieties  puzzled  me 
then  and  have  puzzled  me  ever  since. 

"Why  mustn't  I  spin  and  churn,  Milly  ?  "  I  in 
sisted. 


1 6  My  Day 

"  Ain't  I  done  tole  you  ?  Ladies  don't  nuvver 
do  dem  things." 

"  Then  why  can  I  help  with  the  laces  and  mus 
lins  ?" 

"  Cause — ladies  does  do  dem  things." 

And  so  I  became  an  expert  blanc  his  sense  de  Jin, 
as  it  was  the  one  household  industry  allowed  my 
caste. 

There  was  no  railroad  to  bring  us  luxuries  from 
the  nearest  town  —  Richmond — twenty-five  miles 
distant,  and  we  depended  upon  the  little  covered 
cart  of  Aunt  Mary  Miller.  Aunt  Mary  and  her 
husband.  Uncle  Jacob,  were  old  family  servants 
who  had  been  given  their  freedom.  They  lived 
at  the  foot  of  a  hill  near  our  house,  and  down  the 
path,  slippery  with  fallen  pine  needles,  I  was  often 
sent  with  Milly  to  summon  Uncle  Jacob,  who  was 
the  coachman.  He  was  very  old,  and  gray,  and 
always  unwilling  to  "  hitch  up  de  new  kerridge  in 
dis  bad  weather."  He  would  stand  on  the  lawn 
and  scan  the  horizon  in  every  direction — and  a 
dim,  distant  haze  was  enough  to  daunt  him.  Aunt 
Mary  was  allowed  to  collect  eggs,  poultry,  and  pea 
cock's  feathers  from  the  neighbors,  take  them  down 
to  Richmond  to  her  waiting  customers,  and  re 
turn  with  sundry  delightful  things, — Peter  Parley's 
books,  a  wax  doll,  oranges  and  candy  for  me,  and 
wonderful  stories  of  the  splendors  she  had  seen. 
She  had  other  stories  than  these.  One  night  "  a 
hant "  had  walked  around  her  cart  and  "  skeered  " 
her  old  horse  "  pretty  nigh  outen  his  senses  "  ;  as 
to  herself,  "  Humph,  I'se  used  to  hants." 


My  Day  17 

"  Where,  Aunt  Mary,  tell  me,"  I  begged.  With 
a  furtive  glance  lest  my  elders  would  hear,  she  an 
swered  :  — 

"  I  ain't  savin'  nothin'.  Don't  you  go  an'  say  I 
tole  you  anythin'.  Jes  you  run  down  to  the  back 
of  the  gyardin  as  fur  as  the  weepin'  wilier  an'  you'll 
know." 

Of  course  I  knew  already  what  I  should  find  be 
neath  the  willow.  I  had  often  stood  at  the  foot  of 
the  two  long  white  slabs  and  read :  "  Sacred  to  the 
Memory  of  Charles  Crenshaw  "  and  "Sacred  to  the 
Memory  of  Susannah  Crenshaw."  I  knew  their 
story.  This  had  been  their  home.  The  brother 
had  died  early,  and  for  love  of  him  the  sister  had 
broken  her  heart.  My  sweet  great-aunt  Susannah  ! 
Had  she  not  left  a  lovely  Chinese  basket — which  I 
was  to  inherit — full  of  curious  and  precious  things; 
a  carved  ivory  fan,  necklace,  pearls,  and  amethysts, 
and  a  treasure  of  musk-scented  yellow  lace  ?  Aunt 
Mary  shook  her  head  when  I  announced  scornfully 
that  I  wasn't  afraid  of  my  Aunt  Susannah. 

"  I  ain't  talkin' !  Miss  Susannah  used  to  war 
blue  satin  high-heeled  slippers.  You  jes  listen  ! 
Some  o'  dese  dark  nights  you'll  hear  sump'n  goin' 
<  click,  click. ' : 

"  I  know,  Aunt  Mary.  That's  the  death-head 
moth.  Milly  says  it  won't  hurt  anybody,  without 
you  meddle  with  it." 

"Humph!  Milly  I  I  seed  hants  befo'  her 
mammy  was  bawn  !  /  tells  you  it's  Miss  Susannah 
comin'  on  her  high  heels  to  see  if  you  meddlin' 
with  her  things.  I  knowed  Miss  Susannah !  she 


1 8  My  Day 

was  monsous  particlar.     She  ain't  nuvver  goin'  to 
let  you  war  her  things." 

I  was  a  wretched  child  for  a  long  time  after  this. 
Whenever  I  retired  into  the  inner  chambers  of  my 
imagination  —  as  was  my  wont  when  grown-up 
people  talked  politics,  or  religion,  or  slavery  —  I 
found  my  pretty  fairies  all  fled,  and  in  their  places 
hollow-eyed  goblins  and  ghosts.  If  my  gentle 
Aunt  Susannah  was  permitted  to  come  back  to  her 
home,  how  about  all  the  others  who  had  lived  there  ? 
My  aunt  coming  for  her  final  good-night  kiss 
would  uncover  a  hot  face,  to  be  instantly  re 
covered  upon  her  departure.  Par  parenthese,  I 
never  did  wear  Aunt  Susannah's  jewels.  All  dis 
appeared  mysteriously  except  the  chain  of  lovely 
beads.  These  I  wore.  One  night  I  slept  in  them 
and  the  next  morning  they  were  gone.  Whither  ? 
Ah,  you  must  call  up  some  one  of  those  long-time 
sleepers.  According  to  latter-day  lights,  they  may 
"  come  when  you  do  call."  They  may  know.  I 
never  did  know. 


CHAPTER   IV 

NO  house  in  Virginia  was  more  noted  for  hospi 
tality  than  my  uncle's.  I  remember  an  ever 
coming  and  going  procession  of  Taylors, 
Pendletons,  Flemings,  Fontaines,  Pleasants,  etc. 
These  made  small  impression  upon  me.  Men  might 
come  and  men  might  go,  but  my  lessons  went  on  for 
ever;  writing,  geography,  and  much  reading.  I  had 
Mrs.  Sherwood's  books.  I  wonder  if  any  present- 
day  child  reads  "  Little  Henry  and  his  Bearer,"  or 
Miss  Edgeworth's  "  Rosamond,"  or  cc  Peter  Parley's 
Four  Quarters  of  the  Globe  "  !  Hannah  More  was 
the  great  influence  with  my  aunt  and  her  friends. 
"  Thee  will  be  a  second  Hannah  More  "  was  the 
highest  praise  the  literary  family  at  Shrubbery  Hill 
could  possibly  give  me.  Mr.  Augustine  Birrell 
could  never  have  written  his  sarcastic  review  of  her 
in  my  day.  It  would  not  have  been  tolerated. 
From  Miss  Edgeworth,  Cowper,  Burns,  St.  Pierre, 
my  aunt  read  aloud  to  me.  On  every  centre  table, 
along  with  the  astral  lamp,  lay  a  sumptuous  volume 
in  cream  and  gold.  This  was  the  elegant  annual 
"  Friendship's  Offering,"  containing  the  much-ad 
mired  poems  of  one  Alfred  Tennyson,  collaborating 
with  his  brother  Charles.  Miss  Martineau  was  much 
discussed  and  was  distinctly  unpopular.  Stories  were 
told  of  her  peculiarities,  her  ignorance  of  the  etiquette 
of  polite  society  at  the  North.  When  she  was  in  Wash- 

19 


2o  My  Day 

ington  in  1835,  sne  was  invited  by  Mrs.  Samuel 
Harrison  Smith  to  an  informal  dinner  at  five  o'clock. 
Mrs.  Smith  had  requested  three  friends  to  meet  her, 
and  had  arranged  for  "a  small,  genteel  dinner." 
She  had  descended  to  the  parlor  at  an  early  hour 
to  arrange  some  flowers,  when  her  daughter  in 
formed  her  that  Miss  Martineau  and  her  compan 
ion,  Miss  Jeffrey,  had  arrived,  and  were  upstairs  in 
her  bedroom,  having  requested  to  be  shown  to  a 
chamber.  Mrs.  Smith  wrote  to  Mrs.  Kirkpatrick  : 
"  I  hastened  upstairs  and  found  them  combing  their 
hair !  They  had  taken  off  their  bonnets  and  large 
capes.  '  You  see/  said  Miss  Martineau,  c  we  have 
complied  with  your  request  and  come  sociably  to 
spend  the  day  with  you.  We  have  been  walking 
all  the  morning;  our  lodgings  were  too  distant  to  re 
turn,  so  we  have  done  as  those  who  have  no  car 
riages  do  in  England  when  they  go  to  pass  a  social 
day/  I  offered  her  combs,  brushes,  etc.,  but  show 
ing  me  the  enormous  pockets  in  her  French  dress 
she  said  that  they  were  provided  with  all  that  was 
necessary,  and  pulled  out  nice  little  silk  shoes,  silk 
stockings,  a  scarf  for  her  neck,  little  lace  mits,  a  gold 
chain,  and  some  other  jewellery,  and  soon,  without 
changing  her  dress,  was  prettily  equipped  for  dinner 
or  evening  company.  It  was  a  rich  treat  to  hear 
her  talk  when  the  candles  were  lit  and  the  curtains 
drawn.  Her  words  flow  in  a  continuous  stream, 
her  voice  is  pleasing,  her  manners  quiet  and  lady 
like/'  She  was  thought  to  be  unfriendly  to  the 
South  —  which  I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  be 
lieving  was  true. 


My  Day  21 

All  this  I  heard  with  unheeding  ears,  but  a  deli 
cious,  memorable  hour  awaited  me.  Some  guest 
had  brought  her  maid,  and  from  her  I  heard  a 
wonderful  fairy-godmother  story, —  of  one  Cinder 
ella,  whose  light  footstep  would  not  break  a  glass 
slipper. 

Uncle  Remus  had  not  yet  dawned  upon  a  waiting 
world  of  children,  but  Cowper  had  written  charm 
ingly  about  hares  and  how  to  domesticate  them.  I 
had  a  flourishing  colony  of  "  little  Rabs."  Some  of 
my  humble  friends  were  domiciled  in  the  small  play 
house  built  for  me  in  the  garden.  Into  this  sacred 
refuge,  ascended  by  a  flight  of  tiny  steps,  even  Ga- 
briella  was  forbidden  to  enter.  I  could  just  manage 
to  stand  under  the  low  ceiling.  There  I  entertained 
a  strange  company.  I  had  no  toys  of  any  descrip 
tion,  and  only  one  doll,  which  was  much  too  fine  for 
every  day.  Flowers  and  forked  sticks  served  for 
the  dramatis  person*  of  my  plays. 

I  had  never  heard  of  y^sop  or  of  Aristophanes, 
but  it  was  early  given  to  me  to  discern  the  excellent 
points  of  frogs.  I  caught  a  number  of  them  on  the 
sandy  margin  of  a  little  brook  which  ran  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  and  Milly  helped  me  to  dress 
them  in  bits  of  muslin  and  lace.  Their  ungraceful 
figures  forbade  their  masquerading  as  ladies,  —  a  frog 
has  "  no  more  waist  than  the  continent  of  Africa,  " — 
but  with  caps  and  long  skirts  they  made  admirable 
infants,  creeping  in  the  most  orthodox  fashion.  Of 
course  their  prominent  eyes  and  wide  mouths  left 
something  to  be  desired ;  but  these  were  very  dear 
children,  over  whose  mysterious  disappearance  their 


22  My  Day 

adoptive  mother  grieved  exceedingly.  Could  it  be 
that  snakes — but  no  !  The  suggestion  is  too  awful ! 

My  aunt  had  a  warm  affection  for  a  kinswoman 
who  lived  seven  or  eight  miles  from  us.  This  lady's 
gentleness  and  sweetness  made  her  a  welcome  visitor, 
and  I  never  tired  of  hearing  her  talk,  albeit  her 
manner  was  tinged  with  sadness.  She  grieved  over 
the  disappearance,  years  before,  of  a  dear  young 
brother.  He  had  simply  dropped  out  of  sight  —  her 
"  poor  Brother  Ben  !  "  This  was  a  great  mystery 
which  she  often  discussed  with  my  aunt,  and  which 
delightfully  stirred  my  imagination. 

One  night  late  in  summer  a  cold  storm  of  rain 
and  wind  howled  without  and  beat  against  the  window- 
panes.  A  fire  was  kindled  on  the  hearth,  and  around 
it  the  family  gathered  for  a  cosey  evening.  Suddenly 
some  one  saw  a  face  pressed  against  the  window,  and 
hastened  to  open  the  door  to  the  benighted  visitor. 
There,  dripping  upon  the  threshold,  stood  awretched- 
looking  man.  It  was  Brother  Ben  ! 

He  carried  a  bundle  of  blankets  on  his  back  which 
he  proceeded  to  unwind,  revealing  at  last  two  tiny 
Indian  girls  !  The  frightened  little  creatures  clung 
to  him  closely,  and  only  after  being  brought  to  the 
fire  and  fed  on  warm  milk  were  sufficiently  reassured 
to  permit  him  to  explain  himself.  With  one  on 
each  knee,  "  Brother  Ben"  told  his  story.  He  had 
run  away  to  escape  the  restraints  of  home  and  had 
found  his  way  to  the  wild  Western  country  beyond 
the  Ohio.  Friendly  Indians  had  sheltered  and  suc 
cored  him,  and  he  had  finally  married  a  young 
daughter  of  their  chief.  When  his  children  were 


My  Day  23 

born,  he  "  came  to  himself."  He  could  not  endure 
the  prospect  of  rearing  them  among  savages,  and  so 
had  stolen  them  from  their  mother's  wigwam  during 
her  temporary  absence,  and  was  well  on  his  way  be 
fore  his  theft  was  discovered.  For  days  and  nights 
he  was  in  the  wilderness,  fording  rivers,  climbing 
mountains,  hiding  under  the  bushes  at  night.  Fi 
nally  he  overtook  a  party  of  homeward-bound  hunts 
men,  and  in  their  company  succeeded  in  reaching  his 
sister's  door. 

I  never  knew  what  became  of  him,  but  the  chil 
dren  were  adopted  by  their  aunt  as  her  own.  They 
were  queer  little  round  creatures,  knowing  no  word 
of  English,  but  affectionate  and  docile.  I  was  much 
with  them,  delighting  to  teach  them.  I  cared  no 
more  for  Gabriella  nor  my  rabbits  and  frogs.  I 
thought  no  more  of  fairies  and  midnight  apparitions. 
Here  was  food  enough  for  imagination,  different 
from  anything  I  had  ever  dreamed  of,  —  romance 
brought  to  my  very  door. 

Without  doubt  the  Indian  mother,  far  away 
towards  the  setting  sun,  wept  for  her  babes,  but 
nobody,  excepting  myself,  seemed  to  think  of  her. 
Could  I  write  to  her?  Could  I,  some  day,  find  a 
huntsman  going  westward  and  send  her  a  message? 
She  might  even  come  to  them  !  Some  dark  night 
I  might  see  her  dusky  face  pressed  against  the 
window-pane,  peering  in.! 

As  time  wore  on,  the  children  grew  to  be  great 
girls,  and  their  Indian  peculiarities  of  feature  and 
coloring  became  so  pronounced  that  they  were 
constantly  wounded  by  being  mistaken  for  mulat- 


24  My  Day 

toes.  There  was  no  school  in  Virginia  where 
they  could  be  happy.  No  lady  would  willingly 
allow  her  little  girls  to  associate  with  them.  Evi 
dently  there  was  no  future  for  them  in  Virginia. 
Finally  their  aunt  found  through  our  Quaker 
friends  an  excellent  school,  I  think  in  Ohio,  and 
thither  the  little  wanderers  were  sent,  were  kindly 
treated,  were  educated,  and  grew  up  to  be  good 
women  who  married  well. 

My  aunt  made  many  long  journeys  —  across  the 
state  to  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  of  which  I  remem 
ber  nothing  but  crowds  and  discomfort  —  to  Amherst, 
where  my  father  lived,  to  Charlotte  to  visit  my 
grandfather,  and  to  Albemarle  to  visit  friends 
among  the  mountains.  She  joined  house-parties 
for  a  few  weeks  every  summer ;  and  one  of  these 
I,  then  a  very  little  child,  can  perfectly  recollect. 

The  country  house,  like  all  Virginia  houses,  was 
built  of  elastic  material  capable  of  sheltering  any 
number  of  guests,  many  of  whom  remained  all 
summer.  Indeed,  this  was  expected  when  a  visit 
was  promised.  "  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  master  of 
Westover  to  a  departing  guest  who  had  sought 
shelter  from  a  rain-storm,  "  My  dear  sir,  do  stay  and 
pay  us  a  visit." 

The  guest  pleaded  business  that  forbade  his 
compliance.  "  Well,  well,"  said  Major  Drewry,  "  if 
you  can't  pay  us  a  visit,  come  for  two  or  three 
weeks  at  least." 

"Week  ends"  were  unknown  in  Virginia,  and 
equally  out  of  the  question  an  invitation  limited  by 
the  host  to  prescribed  days  and  hours.  Sometimes 


My  Day  25 

a  happy  guest  would  ignore  time  altogether  and  stay 
along  from  season  to  season.  I  cannot  remember  a 
parallel  case  to  that  of  Isaac  Watts,  who,  invited  by 
Sir  Thomas  Abney  to  spend  a  night  at  Stoke  New- 
ington,  accepted  with  great  cheerfulness  and  staid 
twenty  years,  but  I  do  remember  that  an  invitation 
for  one  night  brought  to  a  member  of  our  family  a 
pleasant  couple  who  remained  four  years.  Virginia 
was  excelled,  it  seems,  by  the  mother  country. 

At  this  my  first  house-party  there  were  many 
young  people  —  among  them  the  famous  beauty, 
Anne  Carmichael,  and  the  then  famous  poet  and 
novelist,  Jane  Lomax.  These,  with  a  number  of 
bright  young  men,  made  a  gay  party.  Every  moon 
light  night  it  was  the  custom  to  bring  the  horses  to 
the  door-steps,  and  all  would  mount  and  go  off  for 
a  visit  to  some  neighbor.  I  was  told,  however,  that 
the  object  of  these  nocturnal  rides  was  to  enable 
Miss  Lomax  to  write  poetry  on  the  moon,  and  I 
was  sorely  perplexed  as  to  the  possibility,  without 
the  longest  kind  of  a  pen,  of  accomplishing  such  a 
feat.  I  spent  hours  reasoning  out  the  problem,  and 
had  finally  almost  brought  myself  to  the  point  of 
consulting  the  young  lady  herself,  —  although  I  dis 
tinctly  thought  there  was  something  mysterious  and 
uncanny  about  her,  —  when  something  occurred 
which  strained  relations  between  her  and  myself. 

An  uninteresting  bachelor  from  town  had  ap 
peared  on  the  scene,  to  the  chagrin  of  the  young 
people,  whose  circle  was  complete  without  him. 
He  belonged  to  the  class  representing  in  that  day 
the  present-day  cc  little  brothers  of  the  rich/'  often 


26  My  Day 

the  most  agreeable  relations  the  rich  can  boast,  but 
in  this  case  decidedly  the  reverse. 

It  was  thought  that  the  present  intruder  was 
"  looking  for  a  wife,"  —  he  had  been  known  to 
descend  upon  other  house-parties  without  an  in 
vitation,  —  and  it  was  deliberately  determined  to 
give  him  the  most  frigid  of  cold  shoulders.  Our 
amiable  hostess,  however,  emphatically  put  a  stop 
to  this.  I  learned  the  state  of  things  and  resented 
it.  "Old  True/'  as  he  was  irreverently  nicknamed, 
was  a  friend  of  mine.  I  resolved  to  devote  myself 
to  him,  and  to  espouse  his  cause  against  his  enemies. 

One  day  when  the  young  ladies  were  together  in 
my  aunt's  room  there  was  great  merriment  over 
the  situation  in  regard  to  "  old  True,"  and  many 
jests  to  his  disadvantage  related  and  laughed  over. 
To  my  great  delight  Miss  Lomax  presently  an 
nounced  :  "  Now,  girls,  this  is  all  nonsense !  Mr. 
Trueheart  is  a  favorite  of  mine.  I  shall  certainly 
accept  him  if  he  asks  me." 

I  believed  her  literally.  I  saw  daylight  for  my 
injured  friend,  and  immediately  set  forth  to  find 
him.  He  was  sitting  alone  under  the  trees,  on  the 
lawn,  and  welcomed  the  little  girl  tripping  over  the 
grass  to  keep  him  company.  On  his  knee  I  eagerly 
gave  him  my  delightful  news,  and  saw  his  face 
illumined  by  it.  I  was  perfectly  happy  —  and  so3 
he  assured  me,  was  he  ! 

That  evening  my  aunt  observed  an  unwonted  ex 
citement  in  my  face  and  manner  —  and  after  feeling 
my  pulse  and  hot  cheeks  decided  I  was  better  off 
in  bed,  and  sent  me  to  my  room,  which  happened 


My  Day  27 

to  be  in  a  distant  part  of  the  house.  To  reach  it  I 
had  to  go  through  a  long,  narrow,  dark  hall.  I 
always  traversed  this  hall  at  night  with  bated  breath. 
Tiny  doors  were  let  into  the  wall  near  the  floor, 
opening  into  small  apertures  then  known  by  the 
obsolescent  name  of  "  cuddies."  I  was  afraid  to 
pass  them.  So  far  from  the  family,  nobody  would 
hear  me  if  I  screamed.  Suppose  something  were  to 
jump  out  at  me  from  those  cuddies  ! 

In  the  middle  of  this  fearsome  place  I  heard  quick 
steps  behind.  Before  I  could  run  or  scream,  strong 
fingers  gripped  my  shoulders  and  shook  me,  and 
a  fierce  whisper  hissed  in  my  ear  — u  You  little 
devil!" 

It  was  the  poetess  —  the  lady  who  wrote  verses 
on  the  moon  !  "  Old  True  "  had  suffered  no  grass 
to  grow  under  his  feet ! 

He  left  early  next  morning  and  so  did  we  —  my 
aunt  perceiving  that  the  excitement  of  the  gay  house- 
party  was  not  good  for  me. 

I  learned  there  were  other  things  besides  hot  roast 
apples  to  be  avoided.  Fingers  might  be  burned  by 
meddling  with  people's  love  affairs. 

We  were  not  the  only  guests  who  left  the  hos 
pitable,  gay,  noisy,  sleep-forbidding  house.  Our 
host  had  an  eccentric  sister  whom  we  all  addressed 
as  "  Cousin  Betsey  Michie,"  and  who  had  left  her 
own  home  expressly  to  spend  a  few  weeks  here  with 
my  aunt,  to  whom  she  was  much  attached.  When 
"  Cousin  Betsey "  discovered  our  intended  depar 
ture,  she  ordered  her  maid  "  Liddy "  to  pack  her 
trunk,  —  a  little  nail-studded  box  covered  with  goat- 


28  My  Day 

skin, — and  insisted  upon  claiming  us  as  her  guests 
for  the  rest  of  the  season. 

"  Cousin  Betsey  "  was  to  me  a  terrible  old  lady, 
—  large,  masculine,  "  hard-favored,"  and  with  a  wart 
on  her  chin.  I  wondered  what  I  should  do,  were  she 
ever  to  kiss  me,  —  which  she  never  did,  —  and  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  keep  away  from  her  as  far  as 
possible.  I  owed  her  nothing,  I  reasoned,  as  she 
was  not  really  my  cousin.  She  used  strong  language, 
and  was  intolerant  of  all  the  singing,  dancing,  and 
midnight  rides  of  the  young  people.  Her  room  was 
immediately  beneath  mine.  But  the  night  before, 
lying  awake  after  my  startling  interview  with  the 
poetess,  I  had  heard  the  galloping  horses  of  the 
party  returning  from  a  midnight  visit  to  "  Edge- 
worth,"  and  the  harsh  voice  of  Cousin  Betsey  calling 
to  her  sister:  "  Maria,  Maria  !  Don't  you  dare  get 
out  of  bed  to  give  those  scamps  supper  —  a  passel 
of  ramfisticated  villians,  cavorting  all  over  the  coun 
try  like  wild  Indians/' 

A  peal  of  musical  laughter,  and  "  Oh,  Cousin  Bet 
sey  ! "  was  the  answer  of  a  merry  horsewoman 
below. 

As  we  heard  much  about  Johnsonian  English 
from  Cousin  Betsey,  it  was  reasonable  to  suppose, 
my  aunt  thought,  that  the  startling  word  was  classic. 

One  evening  while  we  were  her  guests  she  sud 
denly  asked  if  I  could  write.  I  was  about  to  give 
her  an  indignant  affirmative,  when  my  aunt  inter 
rupted,  "  Not  very  well."  She  knew  I  should  be 
pressed  into  service  as  a  secretary. 

"  She  ought  to  learn,"  said  Cousin  Betsey.     "  My 


My  Day  29 

own  writing  is  more  like  Greek  than  English  since 
my  eyes  fail  me.  Maria  Gordon  has  been  copying 
for  me,  but  such  fantastic  flourishes  !  It  will  be 
Greek  copied  into  Sanskrit  if  she  does  it.  Well, 
what  can  the  child  do  ?  Come  here,  miss.  Are 
your  hands  clean  ?  Ah  !  Wash  them  again,  honey  ; 
you  must  help  Liddy  make  the  Fullers  pies  for  my 
dinner-party  to-morrow." 

I  was  aghast !  But  I  found  the  "  Fuller's  pies  " 
were  quite  within  my  powers.  "  Pie  "  was  not  the 
American  institution,  but  the  bird  supposed  to  hide 
itself  in  its  nest.  "  Je  wi  en  vay  chercher  un  grand 
feut-estre.  II  est  au  nid  de  la  pie"  says  Rabelais.  As 
to  my  hands  —  I  feel  persuaded  that  Cousin  Betsey's 
guests  would  have  been  reassured  could  they  have 
known  to  a  certainty  the  old  lady  had  not  prepared 
them  with  her  own  !  A  glass  bowl  was  placed  before 
me  forthwith, — a  bowl  of  boiling  water,  some  almonds 
and  raisins.  "  Liddy "  blanched  the  almonds  in 
the  hot  water  and  instructed  me  to  press  each  one 
neatly  into  a  large  raisin,  which,  puffing  out  around 
the  nut,  made  it  resemble  an  acorn,  or,  to  the  in 
structed,  a  nest.  These  were  the  "  pies  "  (birds  in 
a  nest),  and  very  attractive  they  were,  piled  in  the 
quaint  old  bowl  with  its  fine  diamond  cutting.  As 
to  the  "  Fuller  "  thus  immortalized,  I  looked  him 
up,  furtively,  in  the  great  Johnson's  Dictionary 
which  lay  in  solitary  grandeur  upon  a  table  in  the 
old  lady's  bedroom.  Finding  him  unsatisfactory, 
I  concluded  Dr.  Johnson  was  not,  after  all,  the  great 
man  Cousin  Betsey  would  have  me  believe.  She 
quoted  him  on  all  occasions  as  authority  upon  all 


30  My  Day 

subjects.  Boswell's  Life  of  him,  "  Rasselas,"  "  The 
Journey  to  the  Hebrides,"  and  "  The  Rambler  "  held 
places  of  honor  upon  the  shelves  of  her  small  book 
case.  "  Read  these,  child,"  she  reiterated,  "  and  you 
need  read  nothing  else.  They  will  teach  you  to 
speak  and  write  English,  —  you  need  no  other  lan 
guage,  —  and  everything  else  you  need  know  except 
sewing  and  cooking."  I  soon  became  interested  in 
her  own  literary  work.  She  was,  at  the  moment, 
engaged  in  writing  a  novel,  "  Some  Fact  and  Some 
Fiction,"  which  was  to  appear  serially  in  the  South 
ern  Literary  Messenger.  I  listened  "  with  all  my 
ears  "  to  her  talk  concerning  it  with  my  aunt.  It 
was  to  be  a  satire  upon  the  affectations  of  the  day 
—  especially  upon  certain  innovations  in  dress  and 
custom  brought  by  her  cousin  "  Judy,"  the  accom 
plished  wife  of  our  late  Minister  to  France,  Mr. 
Rives,  and  transplanted  upon  the  soil  of  Albemarle 
County ;  also  the  introduction  of  Italian  words  to 
music  in  place  of  good  old  English.  The  heroine 
was  exquisitely  simple,  her  muslin  gown  clasped  with 
a  modest  pearl  brooch  and  a  rose-geranium  leaf. 
Her  language  was  fine  Johnsonian  English  —  a  sort 
of  vitalized  "  Lucilla,"  like  the  heroine  in  Miss  Han 
nah  More's  "  Coelebs."  As  to  the  Italian  words  for 
music,  I  blithely  committed  to  memory  this  sarcastic 
travesty,  sung  for  me  in  Cousin  Betsey's  sonorous 
contralto :  — 

The  Frog  he  did  a' courting  ride, 

Rigdum  bulamitty  kimo  — 
With  sword  and  buckler  by  his  side  — 

Rigdum  bulamitty  kimo. 


My  Day  31 

(  Chorus} 

Kimo  naro,  delta  karo! 

Kimo  naro,  kimo! 
Strim  stram  promedidle  larabob  rig 

Rigdum  bulamitty  kimo! 

This  was  deemed  a  clever  satire  on  the  unintelli 
gible  Italian  words  of  recent  songs,  and  ran  through 
several  verses,  describing  the  Frog's  courtship  of 
Mistress  Mouse,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  fair 
lady  with  domestic  habits  who  lived  in  a  mill  and 
was  occupied  with  her  spinning. 

I  was  full  of  anticipation  on  the  great  day  of  the 
dinner-party.  Mrs.  Rives,  Ella  Page  her  niece, 
and  little  Amelie  Rives  —  named  for  her  godmother 
the  queen  of  France  —  were  the  only  invited  guests. 
The  house  was  spick  and  span.  I  filled  a  bowl 
with  damask  roses  from  the  garden,  sparing  the 
microphylla  clusters  that  hung  so  prettily  over  the 
front  porch.  The  dinner  was  to  be  at  two  o'clock. 

A  few  minutes  before  two  a  sable  horseman  gal 
loped  up  to  the  door,  dismounted,  and,  scraping  his 
foot  backward  as  he  bared  a  head  covered  with  gray 
wool,  presented  a  note  which  my  aunt  read  aloud  :  — 

u  CASTLE  HILL,  Wednesday  noon. 

"  DEAR  COUSIN  BETSEY  :  —  I  know  you  will  be  amiable 
enough  to  pardon  me  when  I  tell  you  how  desolee  I  am  to 
find  the  hours  have  flown  unheeded  by,  and  we  are  too 
late  for  your  dinner  !  The  young  ladies  and  I  were  read 
ing  Byron  together,  and  you  know  how 

"  '  Noiseless  falls  the  foot  of  time 
That  only  treads  on  flowers.' 


32  My  Day 

I  am  sure  you  forgive  us,  and  hope  you  will  prove  it  by 
asking  us  again. 

"Your  affectionate  cousin, 

"  JUDITH  RIVES." 

There  was  an  ominous  pause  —  and  then  the 
old  dame  said,  in  her  sternest  magisterial  manner  :  — 

"  Tell  Judy  Rives  to  read  Byron  less —  and  Lord 
Chesterfield  more."  Turning  to  my  aunt  after 
the  dignified  old  servitor  had  bowed  himself  out, 
she  said,  with  fine  scorn  :  "  There's  no  use  in  telling 
her  to  read  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson !  'D'esol'eel  for 
sooth ! —  and  'the  foot  of  time'!  That  sounds 
like  that  idiot,  Tom  Moore." 

I  had  a  very  good  time  at  Cousin  Betsey's.  I 
helped  to  pick  the  berries  and  gather  the  eggs  from 
the  nests  in  the  privet  hedge.  Also  for  several  days 
I  had  a  steady  diet  of  "  Fuller's  pies." 

As  to  the  novel,  if  it  appeared  at  all  it  fell  upon 
the  public  ear  with  a  dull  thud.  Still,  Cousin  Betsey 
must  have  been,  in  her  way,  a  great  woman,  for  it 
was  of  her  that  Thomas  Jefferson  exclaimed,  "  God 
send  she  were  a  man,  that  I  might  make  her  Pro 
fessor  in  my  University." 


CHAPTER   V 

SOMETHING  akin  to  the  tulip  mania  of  Hol 
land  possessed  the  Southern  country  in  the  early 
thirties.      The    Morus   multicaulisy    upon    the 
leaves    of  which  the  silkworm  feeds,  can  be  propa 
gated  from  slips  or  cuttings.     These  cuttings  com 
manded  a  fabulous  price.     To  plant  them   was  to 
lay  a  sure  foundation  for  a  great  fortune. 

My  uncle  visited  Richmond  at  a  time  when  the 
mania  had  reached  fever-heat.  Men  hurried  through 
the  streets,  with  bundles  of  twigs  under  their  arms, 
as  if  they  were  flying  from  an  enemy.  All  over  the 
city  auction  sales  were  held,  and  fortunes  lost  or 
gained  —  as  they  are  to-day  in  Wall  Street  —  with 
the  fluctuations  of  the  market.  "  I  saw  old  Jerry 
White  running  with  a  bundle  of  sticks  under  his  arm 
as  if  the  devil  were  after  him,"  said  my  uncle,  — lazy, 
rheumatic  old  Jerry,  who  had  not  for  years  left  his 
chimney  corner  in  winter,  or  the  bench  upon  which 
he  basked  like  a  lizard  in  summer,  except  to  eat  and 
sleep  ! 

Long  galleries,  roofed  with  glass,  were  hastily 
erected  all  over  the  country,  the  last  year's  eggs  of 
the  Bombyx  mori  obtained  at  great  price,  and  the 
freshly  gathered  leaves  of  the  Morus  multicaulis  laid 
in  readiness  for  their  hatching. 

My  uncle  ridiculed  this  madness,  although  as  a 
physician  it  interested  him. 
">  33 


34  My  Day 

"  It  does  people  good  to  stir  them  up,"  he  de 
clared.  "  It  wakes  up  their  livers  and  keeps  them 
out  of  mischief.  It  is  a  fine  tonic.  They  will  need 
no  bark  and  camomile  while  the  fever  lasts." 

We  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  distant  farm  of  one 
of  the  maniacs.  With  my  narrow  skirts  drawn 
closely  around  me,  I  tiptoed  gingerly  along  the 
aisles  dividing  the  long  tables,  and  saw  the  hideous, 
grayish  yellow,  three-inch  worms  —  each  one  armed 
with  a  rhinoceros-like  horn  on  his  head  —  devouring 
leaves  for  dear  life.  They  had  need  for  haste. 
Their  time  was  short.  Think  of  the  millions  of 
brave  men  and  fair  ladies  who  were  waiting  for  the 
strong,  shining  threads  it  was  their  humble  destiny 
to  spin  !  Meanwhile,  the  lazy  moths,  their  raison 
d'etre  having  been  accomplished,  enjoyed  in  ele 
gant  leisure  the  evening  of  their  days  of  beneficence. 
I  saw  the  ease  with  which  their  spider-web  thread 
was  caught  in  hot  water,  and  wound  in  balls  as  easily 
as  I  wound  the  wools  for  my  aunt's  knitting. 

Nothing  came  of  it  all  !  In  time  all  the  Morus 
multicaulis  was  dug  up,  and  good,  sensible  corn 
planted  in  its  stead.  Old  Jerry  found  again  his  warm 
seat  by  the  ingleside,  where  doubtless  he 

"  backward  mused  on  wasted  time," 

and  many  a  better  man  than  poor  Jerry  was  stricken 
with  amazement  at  his  own  folly.  Does  not  Morus 
come  from  the  Greek  word  for  "  fool  "  ? 

Next  to  his  Bible  and  the  Westminster  Catechism, 
my  uncle  pinned  his  faith  to  the  Richmond  Whig. 
Henry  Clay  was  his  idol.  To  make  Henry  Clay 


My  Day  35 

President  of  the  United  States  was  something  to  live 
for.  When  the  great  man  passed  through  Virginia, 
all  Hanover  went  to  Richmond  to  do  him  honor, 
ourselves  among  the  number.  He  was  a  son  of 
Hanover,  the  "  Mill  boy  of  the  Slashes."  The  old 
Mother  of  Presidents  could,  never  fear,  give  yet  an 
other  son  to  the  country  !  No  living  man  except 
Webster  equalled  him  in  all  that  the  world  holds 
essential  to  greatness  —  none  was  as  dear  to  the  mass 
of  people.  And  yet  neither  could  be  elected  to  the 
post  of  Chief  Magistrate  of  those  adoring  people  ! 

Clay,  at  the  time  he  visited  Richmond,  was  confi 
dent  he  would  win  this  honor.  My  uncle  resolved 
I  should  see  "  the  next  President."  A  procession 
of  citizens  was  to  conduct  him  to  a  hall  where  a  ban 
quet  awaited  him.  My  uncle  found  a  vacant  door 
step  on  the  line  of  march,  and  there  we  awaited  the 
great  man's  coming.  "  Ah,  there  he  comes  !"  ex 
claimed  my  uncle.  "Look  well,  little  girl!  You 
may  never  again  see  the  greatest  man  in  the  world." 
But  to  look  was  impossible.  The  crowd  thronged 
us,  and  my  uncle  caught  me  to  a  vantage-ground  on 
his  shoulder.  A  tumbling  sea  of  hats  was  all  I  could 
see  !  Presently  a  space  appeared  in  the  procession, 
and  a  tall  man  on  the  arm  of  another  looked  up  with 
a  rare  smile  to  the  small  maiden,  lifted  his  hat,  and 
bowed  to  her  !  My  uncle  never  allowed  me  to  for 
get  that  one  supreme  moment  in  my  child-life.  To 
this  day  I  cannot  look  at  the  fine  bronze  statuette 
of  Henry  Clay  in  my  husband's  library  without  a 
sensation  born  of  the  pride  of  that  hour. 

I  am  afraid  the  small  maiden  dearly  loved  glory  ! 


36  My  Day 

Nobody  would  ever  have  guessed  the  ambitious 
little  heart  beating,  the  next  winter,  under  the  cherry 
merino  ;  nor  the  conscious  lips  deep  in  her  poke-bon 
net  that  followed  the  prayers  at  church  and  implored 
mercy  for  a  miserable  sinner !  For  she  had,  during 
that  glorious  summer,  another  shining  hour  to 
remember.  Those  penitent  lips  had  been  kissed 
by  a  great  man  all  the  way  from  England  —  a  man 
who  had  kissed  the  hand  of  a  queen!  She  had 
a  dim  apprehension  of  virtue  through  the  laying  on 
of  hands  in  church.  What,  then,  might  not  come  in 
the  way  of  royal  attribute  from  the  laying  on  of  lips  ! 

Great  thoughts  like  these  so  swelled  my  bosom 
that  I  was  fain  to  reveal  them  to  my  little  Quaker 
cousin  at  Shrubbery  Hill.  She  received  them  gravely. 
"  Oh,  Sara  Agnes,"  she  ventured,  "  I  am  afraid  thee 
is  going  to  be  one  of  the  world's  people  !  "  All  the 
same  she  had  just  dressed  her  doll  Isabella  in  black 
silk,  with  a  lace  mantilla!  The  Princess  Isabella, 
born,  like  myself,  in  1830,  was  even  then  known  as 
the  future  queen  of  Spain.  It  was  an  age  of  young 
queens. 

Among  the  strangers  from  abroad  who  found  their 
way  to  Virginia,  none  was  more  honored  in  Han 
over  than  the  Quaker  author  and  philanthropist, 
Joseph  John  Gurney.  He  was  the  brother  of 
Elizabeth  Fry,  who  gave  her  life  to  the  amelioration 
of  the  prison  horrors  of  England. 

My  uncle  entertained  Dr.  Gurney.  The  house 
was  filled  with  guests  to  its  utmost  capacity.  A 
picture  of  the  long  dining-tables  rises  before  me  — 
the  gold-and-white  best  service,  the  flowers  —  and 


My  Day  37 

the  sweetest  flower  of  all,  my  young  aunt.  She  was 
tall  and  graceful  and  very  beautiful,  —  with  large 
gray  eyes,  dark  curls  framing  her  face,  delicate  fea 
tures,  a  lovely  smile  !  She  wore  a  narrow  gown  of 
pearl  silk,  the  "  surplice "  waist  belted  high,  and 
sleeves  distended  at  the  top  by  means  of  feather 
cushions  tied  in  the  armholes.  I  remember  my 
uncle  ordered  the  dinner  to  be  served  quietly  and 
in  a  leisurely  manner.  "  These  Englishmen  eat 
deliberately,'*  he  said.  "  Only  Americans  bolt  their 
food." 

In  the  evening,  after  the  dinner  company  had 
left,  a  small  party  gathered  around  the  astral  lamp 
in  the  parlor,  and  Dr.  Gurney  drew  forth  his  scrap- 
book  and  pencils,  and  began,  as  he  talked,  to  re 
touch  sketches  he  had  made  during  his  journey. 
The  parlor  was  simply  furnished.  The  Virginian 
of  that  day  seemed  to  attach  small  importance  to  the 
style  of  his  furniture.  His  chief  pride  was  in  his 
table,  his  fine  wines,  his  horses  and  equipage,  and 
the  perfect  comfort  he  could  give  his  guests.  There 
was  no  bric-a-brac,  there  were  no  pictures  or  brackets 
on  the  wall.  "  I  have  now,"  said  an  artist  to  me, 
"  seen  everything  hung  on  American  walls  except 
buckwheat  cakes !  I  have  seen  the  plate  in  which 
they  were  served/' 

This  parlor  at  Cedar  Grove  admitted  but  one 
picture  —  a  fine  copy  over  the  mantel  of  the  School 
of  Athens,  which  my  cousin  Charles  had  brought  as 
a  present  for  my  aunt,  when  he  last  returned  from 
abroad.  She  was  not  responsible  for  the  taste  of 
this  inherited  home,  which  she  had  not  tenanted 


38  My  Day 

very  long.  The  walls  of  the  parlor  were  papered 
with  a  wonderful  representation  of  a  Venetian  scene 
-  printed  at  intervals  of  perhaps  four  or  more  feet. 
There  was  a  castle  with  turrets  and  battlements ; 
and  a  marble  stair,  flanked  with  roses  in  pots,  de 
scending  into  the  water.  Down  this  stair  came  the 
most  adorable  creature  in  the  world,  —  roses  on  her 
brocade  gown,  roses  on  her  broad  hat,  —  and  at  the 
foot  of  the  stair  a  cavalier,  also  adorable,  extended 
his  hand  to  conduct  her  to  the  gondola  in  waiting. 
In  the  distance  were  more  castles,  more  sea,  more 
gondolas. 

In  this  room  the  distinguished  stranger  met 
the  company  convened  in  his  honor.  If  he  gasped 
or  shuddered  at  the  ornate  walls,  he  gave  no  sign. 
The  little  girl  on  the  ottoman  in  the  chimney  cor 
ner,  permitted  to  sit  up  late  because  of  the  rare 
occasion,  listened  with  wide  eyes  to  conversation 
she  could  not  understand.  Weighty  matters  were 
discussed, — for  all  the  world  was  alive  to  the  ques 
tion  which  had  to  be  met  later,  —  the  possibility  of 
freeing  the  slaves  under  the  present  constitutional 
laws.  This  was  a  small  gathering  of  the  wise  men 
of  our  neighborhood  —  come  to  consult  a  wise  man 
from  the  country  that  had  met  and  solved  a  similar 
problem.  Perhaps  all  of  these  men  had,  like  my 
uncle,  given  freedom  to  inherited  slaves. 

Presently  I  found  myself,  as  I  half  dreamed  in 
the  corner,  caught  up  by  strong  arms  to  the  bosom 
of  the  great  man  himself.  Bending  over  the  sleepy 
head,  he  whispered  a  strange  story  —  how  that,  far 
away  across  the  seas,  there  was  once  a  little  girl 


My  Day  39 

"just  like  you"  who  loved  her  play,  and  loved  to 
sit  up  and  hear  grown  people  talk  —  how  a  lady 
came  to  her  one  day  and  said,  "  My  child,  you 
must  study  and  learn  to  deny  yourself  much  pleas 
ure,  for  soon  you  will  be  the  queen  of  England " 
—  how  the  little  girl  neither  laughed  nor  cried,  but 
said,  "  I  will  be  good  "  —  how  time  had  gone  on,  and 
she  had  kept  her  promise  and  was  now  grown  up  to 
be  a  lovely  lady;  and  sure  enough,  just  a  little  while 
ago  had  been  crowned  queen  —  and  how  every 
body  was  glad,  because  they  knew,  as  she  had  been  a 
good  child,  she  would  be  a  good  queen. 

That  was  a  long  time  ago.  Many  things  have 
happened  and  been  forgotten  since  then ;  the  Vene 
tian  lady  and  her  cavalier  have  sailed  away  in  un 
known  seas  ;  the  good  Englishman  has  long  since 
gone  to  his  rest;  the  queen  has  won,  God  grant, 
an  immortal  crown,  having  lived  to  be  old,  never 
forgetting  all  along  her  life  her  promise ;  and  the 
little  girl  has  lived  to  be  old,  too  !  She  has  dreamed 
many  dreams,  but  none  more  beautiful  than  the  one 
she  probably  dreamed  that  night,  —  all  roses  and 
castles  and  gondolas,  and  a  gracious  young  queen 
lovelier  than  all  the  rest. 

Thus  passed  the  first  eight  years  of  my  life. 
Compared  with  those  that  followed,  they  were  years 
of  absolute  serenity  and  happiness.  They  were  not 
gay.  This  was  the  time  when  people  who  "  feared 
God  and  desired  to  save  their  souls  "  felt  bound  to 
forsake  the  Established  Church,  many  of  whose 
clergy  had  become  objects  of  disgust  rather  than  of 
reverence.  Dissenters  and  Quakers  lived  ail  around 


40  My  Day 

us ;  my  uncle  and  aunt  were  Presbyterians,  and  I 
heard  little  but  sober  talk  in  my  early  years.  Some 
times  we  attended  the  silent  meetings  of  the  Quak 
ers,  and  sometimes  old  St.  Martin's,  to  which  many 
of  our  Episcopal  friends  belonged.  Extreme  asceti 
cism,  however,  was  as  far  from  the  temper  of  my 
aunt  and  uncle  as  was  the  extreme  of  dissipation. 
They  were  strict  in  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath 
and  of  all  religious  duties.  Temperance  in  speech 
and  living,  moderation,  serenity,  —  these  ruled  the 
life  at  Cedar  Grove. 

And  so,  although  I  cannot  claim  that 

"  There  was  a  star  that  danced, 
And  under  it  I  was  born," 

I  look  back  with  gratitude  unspeakable  to  a  beauti 
ful  childhood,  and  bless  the  memory  of  those  who 
suffered  no  "shapes  of  ill  to  hover  near  it,"  and 
mar  its  perfect  innocence. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  it  was  found  that  a  refined  and  in 
telligent    society    was    inclined  to  crystal 
lize  around  the  court  green  of  Albemarle 
County,  it  became   imperative    to  choose  a    fitting 
name  for  a  promising  young  village. 

In  1761  there  was  a  charming  princess  of  Meck- 
lenburg-Strelitz ;  intelligent,  amiable,  and  only 
seventeen  years  of  age.  She  had  stepped  forth 
from  the  conventional  ranks  of  the  young  noble 
women  of  her  day,  and  written  a  spirited  letter  to 
Frederick  the  Great,  in  which  she  entreated  him  to 
stop  the  ravages  of  war  then  desolating  the  German 
States.  She  had  painted  in  vivid  colors  the 
miseries  resulting  from  the  brutality  of  the  Prussian 
soldiery. 

It  appears  that  this  letter  reached  the  eyes  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  He  fell  in  love  with  the  letter 
before  he  ever  knew  the  writer.  In  the  same 
year  that  he,  as  George  III,  ascended  the  throne  of 
England,  the  lovely  Charlotte,  Princess  of  Meck- 
lenburg-Strelitz,  became  his  wife.  Charlottesville, 
then,  was  a  name  of  happy  omen  for  the  pretty 
little  town,  and  in  three  more  years  a  county  was 
created,  it  would  seem,  expressly  that  it  might  be 
called  "  Mecklenburg,"  and  yet  again  a  slice  taken 
from  another  county  to  form  the  county  of  Char 
lotte. 

41 


42  My  Day 

The  colony  of  Virginia  was  strewn  thickly  with 
the  names  of  royal  England:  King  and  Queen, 
Charles  City,  —  Charlestown,  —  King  George,  King 
William,  William  and  Mary,  Prince  Edward,  Prin 
cess  Anne,  Caroline,  Prince  George,  Henrico, 
Prince  William.  No  less  than  four  rivers  were 
named  in  honor  of  the  good  Queen  Anne:  Rapidan, 
North  Anna,  South  Anna,  Rivanna.  We  might 
almost  call  the  roll  of  the  House  of  Lords  from  a 
list  of  Virginia  counties. 

Twenty-four  years  after  the  Princess  Charlotte 
had  become  a  queen,  Mrs.  Abigail  Adams,  as  our 
minister's  wife,  was  presented  at  the  Court  of  St. 
James.  Alas  for  time,  —  and  perhaps  for  prejudice, 
—  she  found,  in  place  of  the  charming  princess,  an 
"  embarrassed  woman,  not  well-shaped  nor  handsome, 
although  bravely  attired  in  purple  and  silver." 
The  interview  was  cold  and  stilted,  but  all  the 
"  embarrassment "  was  on  the  part  of  royalty. 

There  had  been  a  recent  unpleasantness  between 
John  Bull  and  Brother  Jonathan ;  King  George, 
however,  brave  Briton  as  he  was,  broke  the  ice,  and 
startled  Mrs.  Adams  by  giving  her  a  hearty  kiss  ! 
She  could  not  venture,  however,  to  remind  the 
queen  that  we  had  named  counties  in  her  honor. 
She  might,  in  her  present  state  of  mind,  have 
deemed  it  an  impertinence  on  our  part. 

I  am  so  impatient  under  descriptions  of  scenery, 
that  I  do  not  like  to  inflict  them  upon  others.  But 
I  wish  I  could  stand  with  my  reader  upon  the 
elliptic  plain  formed  by  cutting  down  the  apex  of 
Monticello.  He  would,  I  am  sure,  appreciate  the 


My  Day  43 

fascination  of  mountain,  valley,  and  river  which  drew 
the  first  settlers,  and  later  the  Randolphs,  Gilmers, 
William  Wirt,  and  Thomas  Jefferson,  to  the  region 
around  Charlottesville.  On  the  east  the  almost 
level  scene  is  bounded  by  the  horizon,  and  on  the 
west  the  land  seems  to  billow  onward,  wave  after 
wave,  until  it  rises  in  the  noble  crests  of  the  Blue 
Ridge  Mountains.  A  mist  of  green  at  our  feet  is 
pierced  here  and  there  by  the  simple  belfries  of  the 
village  churches,  and  a  little  farther  on,  glimpses 
appear  of  the  classic  Pantheon  and  long  colonnades 
of  the  University  of  Virginia.  Imagination  may 
fill  in  this  picture,  but  reality  will  far  exceed  im 
agination,  especially  if  the  happy  moment  is  caught 
at  sunset  when  the  mountains  change  color,  from 
rose  through  delicate  shadings  to  amethyst,  and 
finally  paint  themselves  deep  blue  against  the  even 
ing  sky.  Then,  should  that  sky  chance  to  be 
veiled  with  light,  fleecy  clouds  all  flame  and  gold 
—  but  I  forbear  ! 

This  was  the  spot  chosen  by  my  aunt  as  the  very 
best  for  my  education  and  my  social  life.  The 
town  was  small  in  the  forties,  indeed,  is  not  yet  a  city. 
It  is  described  at  that  time  as  having  four  churches, 
two  book-stores,  several  dry-goods  stores,  and  a 
female  seminary.  The  family  of  Governor  Gilmer 
lived  on  one  of  the  little  hills,  Mr.  Valentine  South- 
all  on  another,  and  we  were  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  a  third,  with  a  glorious  view  of  the  moun 
tains  and  with  grounds  terraced  to  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  Large  gardens,  grounds,  and  ornamental  trees 
surrounded  all  the  houses.  The  best  of  these  were 


44  My  Day 

of  plain  brick  of  uniform  unpretentious  architec 
ture,  comfortable,  and  ample.  A  small  brick  build 
ing  at  the  foot  of  our  lawn  was  my  uncle's  office, 
and  behind  it,  on  my  tenth  birthday,  he  made  me 
plant  a  tree. 

The  "  Female  Seminary "  had  been  really  the 
magnet  that  drew  my  dear  aunt.  It  was  a  famous 
school,  presided  over  by  an  excellent  and  much-loved 
Presbyterian  clergyman.  There  it  was  supposed  I 
should  learn  everything  my  aunt  could  not  teach 
me. 

Behold  me,  then,  on  a  crisp  October  morning 
wending  my  way  to  the  great  brick  hive  for  girls. 
I  was  going  with  my  aunt  to  be  examined  for  ad 
mission.  Her  thoughts  were,  doubtless,  anxious 
enough  about  the  creditable  showing  I  should  make. 
Mine  were  anxious,  too.  I  was  conscious  of  a  linen 
bretelle  apron  under  my  pelisse,  and  my  mind  was 
far  from  clear  about  the  propriety  of  so  juvenile  a 
garment.  Suppose  no  other  girl  wore  bretelle  aprons ! 

However,  when  we  marched  up  the  broad  brick- 
paved  walk  and  ascended  the  steps  of  the  great 
building,  whose  many  windows  seemed  to  stare  at 
us  like  lidless  eyes,  bretelle  aprons  sank  into  insig 
nificance. 

The  room  into  which  we  were  ushered  seemed  to 
be  filled  with  hundreds  of  girls,  and  the  Reverend 
Doctor's  desk  on  a  platform  towered  over  them. 
He  was  most  affable  and  kind.  The  examination 
lasted  only  a  few  minutes,  a  list  of  books  was  given 
me,  and  a  desk  immediately  in  front  of  the  principal 
assigned  me.  Books  were  borrowed  from  some 


My  Day  45 

other  girl,  the  lessons  for  the  next  day  pointed  out, 
and  my  school  life  began. 

Remember,  I  had  not  yet  planted  my  tenth  birth 
day  tree.  These  were  the  books  deemed  suitable 
for  my  age, — Abercrombie's  "Intellectual  Philoso 
phy,"  Watts  on  the  "  Improvement  of  the  Mind," 
Goldsmith's  "  History  of  Greece,"  and  somebody's 
Natural  Philosophy. 

I  worked  hard  on  these  subjects  with  the  result 
that,  as  I  could  not  understand  them,  I  learned  by 
rote  a  few  words  in  answer  to  the  questions.  A 
bright,  amiable  little  scrap  of  a  girl,  who  always 
knew  her  lessons,  volunteered  to  assist  me.  If  any 
collector  of  old  books  should  happen  to  find  a 
volume  of  Watts  on  the  Mind,  much  thumbed, 
and  blotted  here  and  there  with  tears,  and  should 
see  within  the  early  pages  pencilled  brackets  en 
closing  the  briefest  possible  answer  to  the  questions, 
that  book,  those  tears, were  mine;  and  the  brackets 
are  the  loving  marks  made  by  Margaret  Wolfe, 
whose  memory  I  ever  cherish. 

"What  is  Logic?"  questions  the  teacher's  guide 
at  the  bottom  of  the  pages. 

"  Logic,"  answers  Dr.  Watts  (in  conspicuous  pen 
cilled  brackets),  "is  the  art  of  investigating  and 
communicating  Truth." 

I  had  been  struggling  with  Dr.  Watts,  Abercrom- 
bie,  et  a!.,  for  several  months,  when  my  aunt  reluc 
tantly  realized  that,  however  admirable  the  school 
might  be  for  others,  I  was  not  improving  in  mind  or 
health.  As  soon  as  she  arrived  at  this  conclusion, 
she  decided  to  experiment  with  no  more  large  fe- 


46  My  Day 

male  seminaries,  but  to  educate  me,  as  best  she  could, 
at  home. 

At  the  same  time  I  know  that  my  dear  aunt  suf 
fered  from  the  overthrow  of  all  her  plans  for  my 
education.  She  had,  for  my  sake,  made  great  sac 
rifices  in  leaving  her  inherited  home.  These  sac 
rifices  were  all  for  naught.  She  must  have  felt  keen 
disappointment,  and  regret  at  the  loss,  toil,  expense, 
—  and,  above  all,  my  worse  than  wasted  time. 

Yet,  after  all,  my  time  at  school  may  not  have  been 
utterly  thrown  away !  The  experience  may  have 
borne  fruit  that  I  know  not  of.  Moreover,  I  had 
learned  something  !  I  learned  that  Logic  is  the  art 
of  investigating  and  communicating  Truth  ! 


CHAPTER   VII 

MASTERS  were  found  in  a  preparatory  school 
for  my  home  education.  Happy  to  escape 
from  the  schoolroom,  I  worked  as  never 
maiden  worked  before,  loving  my  summer  desk  in 
the  apple  tree  in  the  garden,  loving  my  winter  desk 
beside  the  blazing  wood  in  my  uncle's  office,  pas 
sionately  loving  my  music,  and  interested  in  the  other 
studies  assigned  me.  With  no  competitive  exami 
nations  to  stimulate  me,  I  yet  made  good  progress. 
Before  I  reached  my  thirteenth  year,  I  had  learned 
to  read  French  easily.  I  had  wept  over  the  tender 
story  of  Picciola  and  the  sorrows  of  Paul  and  Vir 
ginia.  I  had  sailed  with  Ulysses  and  trod  the 
flowery  fields  with  Calypso.  My  aunt  had  beguiled 
me  into  a  course  of  history  by  allowing  me  as  reward 
those  romances  of  Walter  Scott  which  are  founded 
on  historical  events.  My  love  of  music  and  desire 
to  excel  in  it  made  me  patient  under  the  eccentric 
itinerant  music  teacher,  the  one  pioneer  apostle  of 
classic  music  in  all  Virginia,  who  was  known,  more 
than  once,  to  arrive  at  midnight  and  call  me  up  for 
my  lesson  ;  and  who,  while  other  maidens  were  play 
ing  the  "  Battle  of  Prague  "  and  "  Bonaparte  cross 
ing  the  Rhine,"  or  singing  the  campaign  songs  of 
the  hero  of  the  log  cabin,  taught  me  to  love  Bee 
thoven  and  Liszt,  and  to  discern  the  answering 
voices  in  that  genius,  then  young,  whose  magic 

47 


48  My  Day 

music  fell  not  then,  nor  ever  after,  upon  unheeding 
ears.  I  had  read  with  my  aunt  selections  all  the 
way  from  "  The  Faerie  Queene"  through  the  times 
of  later  queens,  —  Elizabeth  and  Anne,  —  and  had 
made  a  beginning  with  the  queen  for  whom  I  had 
a  sentiment,  and  who  has  given  her  name  to  so  fair 
an  age  of  fancy  and  of  elegant  writing.  Alas,  for  the 
mental  training  I  might  have  had  through  the  study 
of  mathematics  !  Were  it  not  that  the  lack  of  this 
training  must  be  apparent  to  all  who  are  kind  enough 
to  listen  to  my  story,  I  might  quote  Joseph  Jeffer 
son,  as  Mr.  William  Winter  reports  him :  "  Why, 
look  at  me  !  I  seem  to  have  managed  pretty  well, 
but  I  couldn't  for  the  life  of  me  add  up  a  column 
of  figures."  The  only  figures  I  know  anything 
about  are  figures  of  speech.  Fortunately,  I  have 
had  little  use  for  addition.  My  knowledge  has  been 
quite  sufficient  for  my  needs. 

My  French  teacher,  Mr.  Mertons,  —  a  square- 
shouldered,  spectacled  German,  with  an  upright 
shock  of  coarse  black  hair,  literally  pounded  the 
French  language  into  me.  With  a  grammar  held 
aloft  in  his  left  hand,  he  emphasized  every  rule  with 
his  right  fist,  coming  down  hard  on  my  aunt's  ma 
hogany.  If  success  is  to  be  measured  by  results,  I 
can  only  say  that,  although  I  perceived  some  charm 
in  Mme.  de  Sevigne  and  in  Dumas,  I  was  rather 
dense  with  Racine  and  Moliere ;  and  as  to  the 
spoken  language  !  I  can  usually  manage  to  convey, 
by  gesture  and  deliberate  English,  a  twilight  glim 
mer  of  my  meaning  in  talking  to  a  polite  Frenchman, 
but  blank  darkness  descends  upon  him  when  I  speak 


My  Day  49 

to  him  in  "a  French  not  spoken  in  France/'  The 
gift  for  "  divers  kinds  of  tongues  "  was  not  bestowed 
upon  me. 

The  music  teacher  deserves  more  than  a  passing 
notice.  He  was  unique.  Mr.  William  C.  Rives 
found  him  somewhere  in  France,  and  promised  him 
a  large  salary  if  he  would  come  to  America,  live  near 
or  in  Charlottesville,  and  teach  his  daughter  Amelie. 
He  was  the  incarnation  of  thriftlessness ;  with  no 
polish  of  manner,  no  idea  of  business,  or  order,  or 
of  the  necessity  of  paying  a  debt,  but  he  was  also 
the  incarnation  of  music  !  My  uncle  again  and  again 
satisfied  the  sheriff  and  released  him  from  bonds. 
Finally,  he  could  not  appear  in  town  at  all  by  day 
light,  and  often  arrived  at  midnight  for  my  lesson. 
Gladly  my  aunt  would  rise  and  dress  to  preside  over 
it.  My  teacher  would  disappear  before  the  dawn. 
He  owed  money  all  over  town  which  he  had  not  the 
faintest  intention  of  ever  paying.  More  than  once 
his  defenceless  back  could  have  borne  witness  to  a 
creditor's  outraged  feelings.  But  he  was  resource 
ful.  Thereafter  he  carried  all  his  music,  a  thick 
package,  in  a  case  sewed  to  the  lining  of  his  coat. 
His  back,  rather  than  his  breast,  needed  a  shield. 
It  was  amusing  to  see  him  pack  himself  up,  as  it 
were,  before  venturing  into  the  open. 

But  with  all  this,  we  prized  him  above  rubies. 
He  was  a  brilliant  pianist,  a  great  genius;  had 
studied  with  Liszt,  early  appreciated  Chopin,  adored 
Beethoven.  One  of  his  animated  lessons  would  leave 
me  in  a  state  "  which  fiddle-strings  is  weakness  to 
express  my  nerves,"  and  yet  no  summons  to  duty 

£ 


50  My  Day 

ever  thrilled  me  with  pleasure  like  his  cc  Koom  on 
ze  biahno."  Once  there,  absolute  fidelity  to  the 
composer's  writing  and  the  position  of  my  hands 
exacted  all  my  attention.  The  margins  of  my  music 
were  liberally  adorned  with  illustrations  of  my  fist  — 
a  clumsy  bunch  with  an  outsticking  thumb. 

I  always  felt  keenly  the  charm  of  music,  even 
when  it  was  beyond  my  comprehension.  One  day, 
happening  to  look  up  from  his  own  playing,  he  de 
tected  tears  in  my  eyes.  He  was  enraged  in  three 
languages.  "  Himmel !  Zis  is  not  bathetique  ! 
Zis  is  scherzo  I  Eh,  bien !  I  blay  him  adagio." 
And  under  shut  teeth  a  sibilant  whisper  sounded 
very  much  like  " imbecile"  as  he  hung  his  head  to 
one  side,  arched  his  brows,  and  drawled  out  the 
theme  in  a  ridiculous  manner.  Once  I  was  so  car 
ried  away  by  a  delicious  passage  I  was  playing  that 
I  diminished  the  tempo,  that  the  linked  sweetness 
might  be  long  drawn  out.  He  literally  danced ! 
He  beat  time  furiously  with  both  hands.  "  Ach  !  is 
ityou  yourselluf,  know  bedder  zan  ze  great  maestro," 
and  sweeping  me  from  the  piano  stool  he  rendered 
the  passage  properly. 

One  summer  my  aunt,  in  order  that  I  might  have 
lessons,  took  board  in  a  country  place  where  he  lived. 
I  was  pleasing  myself  one  day  with  a  little  German 
song  I  had  smuggled  from  town  :  — 

"The  church  bells  are  ringing,  the  village  is  gay, 
And  Leila  is  dressed  in  her  bridal  array. 
She's  wooed,  and  she's  won 
By  a  proud  Baron's  son, 
And  Leila,  Leila,  Leila's  a  Lady  !  " 


My  Day  51 

Proceeding  gayly  with  the  chorus,  and  exulting  in 
Leila's  ladyship  and  good  fortune,  I  was  startled 
by  thunderous  claps  through  the  house.  Mr. 
Meerbach  was  fleeing  to  his  own  room,  slam 
ming  the  doors  between  himself  and  my  unedu 
cated  voice! 

Of  course  he  lost  his  scholars.  At  last  only 
Amelie  Rives,  Jane  Page,  Eliza  Meriwether,  and 
myself  remained.  We  had  to  make  up  his  salary 
among  us.  "  I  hope  you'll  study,  dear,"  said  my 
kind  uncle ;  "  I  am  now  giving  eight  dollars  apiece 
for  your  lessons."  Jane  Page  played  magnificently. 
This  rare  young  genius,  a  niece  of  Mrs.  William  C. 
Rives,  died  young.  The  rest  of  us  played  well,  too. 
My  teacher  wished  to  take  me  to  Richmond  to 
play  for  Thalberg  his  own  difficult,  florid  music, 
and  was  terribly  chagrined  at  my  aunt's  refusal  to 
permit  me  to  go. 

The  little  Episcopal  church  and  rectory  were 
just  across  the  street,  and  the  rector,  Mr.  Meade, 
allowed  me  free  access  to  the  gallery,  where  I  de 
lighted  to  practise  on  the  small  pipe  organ.  I  was 
just  tall  enough  to  reach  the  foot  notes.  The 
church  was  peculiarly  interesting  from  the  fact 
that  Thomas  Jefferson,  who  is  supposed  to  have 
been  a  free  thinker,  had  insisted  upon  building  it 
and  had  furnished  the  plans  for  it.  Before  it  was 
built,  services  were  held  in  the  Court  House,  which 
Mr.  Jefferson  regularly  attended,  bringing  his  seat 
with  him  on  horseback  from  Monticello,  "it  be 
ing,"  says  Bishop  Meade,  "  of  some  light  machinery 
which,  folded  up,  was  carried  under  his  arm  and, 


52  My  Day 

unfolded,  served  for  a  seat  on  the  floor  of  the 
Court  House.'* 

I  was  thirteen  years  old  when  Mr.  Meade  sent  for 
me  one  evening  to  come  to  him  in  his  vestry  room. 
He  told  me  that  the  Episcopal  Convention  was  to 
meet  in  his  church  in  two  days,  and  he  had  just 
discovered  that  Miss  Willy  (the  organist)  had  ar 
ranged  an  entire  new  service  of  chants  and  hymns. 
He  had  requested  her  not  to  use  it,  urging  that  his 
father  the  bishop,  the  clergy,  and  all  his  own 
people  knew  and  loved  the  old  tunes,  and  could 
not  join  in  the  new.  Miss  Willy  had  indignantly 
resented  his  interference  and  threatened  to  resign, 
with  all  her  choir,  unless  he  yielded.  "  I  shall  cer 
tainly  not  yield,"  said  the  rector.  "  I  have  told 
her  that  I  know  a  little  girl  who  will  be  glad  to 
help  me.  Now  I  wish  you  to  play  for  the  conven 
tion,  beginning  day  after  to-morrow  (Sunday),  and 
every  evening  during  its  session.  This  will  give 
you  evening  services  all  the  week,  beginning  with 
three  on  Sunday.  I  will  see  that  familiar  hymns 
are  selected,  and  you  need  chant  none  of  the  Psalms 
except  the  Benedictus  and  Gloria  in  Excelsis." 

I  began,  "Oh,  I'm  afraid-  "No,"  said  Mr. 
Meade,  "  you're  not  afraid ;  you  are  not  going  to  be 
afraid.  Just  be  in  your  place  fifteen  minutes  before 
the  time,  and  draw  the  curtain  between  you  and  the 
audience.  I  shall  send  you  a  good  choir." 

I  practised  with  a  will  next  day.  On  the  great 
day,  when  I  passed  the  sable  giant,  Ossian,  pulling 
away  at  the  rope  under  the  belfry,  and  heard  the 
solemn  bell  announcing  that  my  hour  had  come,  my 


My  Day  53 

heart  sank  within  me.  But  Ossian  gave  me  a  glit 
tering  smile  which  showed  all  his  magnificent  ivories. 
He  was  grinning  because  he  was  going  to  pump  the 
organ  for  such  a  slip  of  a  lass  as  I  ! 

On  arriving  at  the  organ  gallery,  I  found  my 
choir, —  several  ladies  whom  I  knew,  and  a  group  of 
fine-looking  students  from  the  University.  They 
looked  down  kindly  on  the  small  organist,  with  her 
hair  hanging  in  two  braids  down  her  back.  I  reso 
lutely  kept  that  small  back  to  the  drawn  curtain  ! 
Only  the  tip  of  one  of  Miss  Willy's  nodding 
plumes,  and  I  should  have  been  undone  ! 

All  went  well.  The  singing  was  fine  from  half 
a  dozen  manly  throats,  supplementing  two  or 
three  female  voices  and  my  own  little  pipe.  I  was 
soon  lost  to  my  surroundings  in  the  enjoyment  of 
my  work.  When,  on  the  last  day,  the  good  bishop 
asked  for  the  grand  old  hymn,  "  How  firm  a  foun 
dation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord,"  it  thrilled  my  soul  to 
hear  the  church  fill  with  the  triumphant  singing  of 
the  congregation,  led  by  little  me  and  my  impro 
vised  choir. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  society  of  Charlottesville  in  the  forties 
was  composed  of  a  few  families  of  early  resi 
dents  and  of  the  professors  at  the  University. 
Governor  Gilmer,  Secretary  of  the  Navy  in  Tyler's 
time,  Mr.  Valentine  Southall  of  an  old  Virginia 
family,  and  himself  eminent  in  his  profession  of  the 
law,  Dr.  Charles  Carter,  Professor  Tucker,  William  B. 
Rogers,  Dr.  McGuffey,  Dr.  Cabell,  Professor  Harri 
son,  —  all  these  names  are  well  known  and  esteemed  to 
this  day.  There  were  young  people  in  these  families, 
and  all  them  were  my  friends.  Along  the  road  I 
have  travelled  for  so  many  years  I  have  met  none 
superior  to  them  and  very  few  their  equals. 

My  special  coterie  was  a  choice  one.  It  included, 
among  others,  Lizzie  Gilmer  (the  lovely)  and  her 
sisters ;  beautiful  Lucy  Southall ;  Maria  Harrison 
and  her  sweet  sister  Mary,  both  accomplished  in 
music  and  literature ;  Eliza  Rives  and  Mary 
McGuffey.  James  Southall,  William  C.  Rives,  Jr., 
George  Wythe  Randolph,  Jack  Seddon,  Kinsey 
Johns,  Professor  Schele  de  Vere,  John  Randolph 
Tucker,  St.  George  Tucker — these  were  habitues  of 
my  home,  and  all  apparently  interested  in  me  and  in 
my  music.  To  each  name  I  might  append  a  list  of 
honors  won,  at  the  bar,  in  literature,  and  in  the  army. 
I  have  survived  them  all  —  and  I  kept  the  friendship 
of  each  one  as  long  as  he  lived. 

54 


My  Day  55 

The  customs  in  entertaining  differed  from  those 
in  vogue  at  the  present  day.  Afternoon  teas,  which 
had  been  fashionable  during  the  Revolution  —  tea 
then  being  a  rare  luxury  —  had  not  survived  until 
the  forties.  Choice  Madeira  in  small  glasses,  and 
fruit-cake  were  offered  to  afternoon  callers.  The 
cake  must  always  be  au,  naturel  if  served  in  the  day 
time.  Cake  iced  —  in  evening  dress  —  was  only 
permissible  at  the  evening  hour. 

Dinner-parties  demanded  a  large  variety  of  dishes. 
They  were  not  served  a  la  Russe.  Two  table-cloths 
wvczderigueur  for  a  dinner  company.  One  was  removed 
with  the  dishes  of  meat,  vegetables,  celery,  and  many 
pickles,  all  of  which  had  been  placed  at  once  upon 
the  table.  The  cut-glass  and  silver  dessert  dishes 
rested  on  the  finest  damask  the  housewife  could  pro 
vide.  This  cloth  removed,  left  the  mahogany  for 
the  final  walnuts  and  wine. 

Three  o'clock  was  a  late  hour  for  a  dinner-party  — 
the  ordinary  family  dinner  was  at  two.  The  large 
silver  tureen,  which  is  now  enjoying  a  dignified  old 
age  on  our  sideboards,  had  then  place  at  the  foot  of  the 
table.  After  soup,  boiled  fish  appeared  at  the  head. 

An  interview  has  been  preserved  between  a  Wash 
ington  hostess  of  the  time  and  Henry,  an  "expe 
rienced  and  fashionable "  caterer.  Upon  being 
required  to  furnish  the  smallest  list  of  dishes  pos 
sible  for  a  "  genteel  "  dinner-party  of  twelve  persons, 
he  reluctantly  reduced  his  menu  to  soup,  fish,  eight 
dishes  of  meat,  stewed  celery,  spinach,  salsify,  and 
cauliflower.  "  Potatoes  and  beets  would  not  be 
genteel."  The  meats  were  turkey,  ham,  par- 


56  My  Day 

tridges,  mutton  chops,  sweetbreads,  oyster  pie, 
pheasants,  and  canvas-back  ducks.  "  Plum-pud 
ding,"  suggested  the  hostess.  "  La,  no,  ma'am  ! 
All  kinds  of  puddings  and  pies  are  out  of  fashion." 
"  What,  then,  can  I  have  at  the  head  and  foot  of  the 
table  ?  "  asked  the  hostess.  "  Forms  of  ice-crearn 
at  the  head,  and  at  the  foot  a  handsome  pyramid  of 
fruit.  Side  dishes,  jellies,  custards,  blanc-mange, 
cakes,  sweetmeats,  and  sugar-plums."  "  No  nuts, 
raisins,  figs?  "  "  Oh,  no,  no,  ma'am,  they  are  quite 
vulgar!" 

For  the  informal  supper-parties,  to  which  my 
aunt  was  wont  to  invite  the  governor  and  Mrs. 
Gilmer,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Southall,  Professor  and  Mrs. 
Tucker,  the  table  was  amply  furnished  with  cold 
tongue,  ham,  broiled  chickens  or  partridges,  and 
pickled  oysters,  hot  waffles,  rolls  and  muffins,  very 
thin  wheaten  wafers,  green  sweetmeats,  preserved 
peaches,  brandied  peaches,  cake,  tea,  and  coffee ; 
and  in  summer  the  fruits  of  the  season.  These 
suppers  made  a  brave  showing  with  the  Sheffield 
candelabra  and  bowls  of  roses.  Ten  years  later 
these  "  high  teas "  were  quite  out  of  fashion,  and 
would,  by  a  modern  "  fashionable  caterer,"  be  con 
demned  as  "vulgar."  There  was  a  crusade  against 
all  card-playing  and  dancing.  The  pendulum  was 
swinging  far  back  from  an  earlier  time  when  the  punch 
bowl  and  cards  ruled  the  evening,  and  the  dancing 
master  held  long  sessions,  travelling  from  house  to 
house.  To  have  a  regular  dancing  party,  with 
violins  and  cotillon,  was  like  "  driving  a  coach-and- 
six  straight  through  the  Ten  Commandments  !"  My 


My  Day  57 

aunt,  however,  had  the  courage  of  her  convictions, 
and  allowed  me  small  and  early  dances  in  our  par 
lor,  with  only  piano  music.  Old  Jesse  Scott  lived 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill  —  but  to  the  length  of  intro 
ducing  him  and  his  violin  we  dared  not  go.  As  it 
was,  after  our  first  offence,  a  sermon  was  preached  in 
the  Presbyterian  church  against  the  vulgarity  and 
sin  of  dancing.  My  aunt  listened  respectfully  but 
continued  the  dance  she  deemed  good  for  my  health 
and  spirits. 

The  noblest  of  men,  and  one  of  my  uncle's  dear 
est  friends,  was  Thomas  Walker  Gilmer,  Secretary 
of  the  Navy  during  Tylers  administration.  He 
was  killed  on  the  Potomac  by  the  bursting  of  a  gun 
on  trial  for  the  first  time.  My  uncle  and  aunt  went 
immediately  to  Washington  to  bring  him  home. 
No  man  had  ever  been  so  loved  and  esteemed  by 
all  who  knew  him.  I  have  never  seen  such  grief, 
as  the  sorrow  of  his  wife.  She  had  been  a  brilliant 
member  of  the  Washington  society,  noted  for  ready 
wit  and  repartee.  Never,  as  long  as  she  lived,  did 
she  reenter  social  life.  With  her  orphaned  children 
she  lived  on  "  The  Hill  "  very  near  us.  These 
children  were  a  part  of  our  family  always. 

As  time  went  on,  and  we  grew  tall,  —  Lizzie  and  I, 
—  students  from  the  University  found  us  out,  and 
had  permission  to  visit  us.  Lizzie,  three  years  my 
senior,  became  engaged  to  St.  George  Tucker,  one 
of  our  choice  circle.  When  more  visitors  called  on 
Lizzie  than  she  could  well  entertain  in  an  evening, 
it  was  her  custom  to  send  Susan,  a  little  pet  negress 
whom  she  had  taught  to  read,  running  down  the  hill 


58  My  Day 

with,  "  Please,  Miss  Hargrave,  please,  ma'am,  Miss 
Lizzie  say  she  certn'ly  will  be  glad  if  you  let  Miss 
Sara  come  up  an'  help  'er  with  her  comp'ny."  My 
aunt  could  never  deny  her  anything.  I  was  too 
young,  much  too  young,  but  we  took  our  lives  very 
naturally  and  unconsciously,  accepting  a  guest  and 
doing  our  best  for  him,  whether  he  was  old  or  young. 
We  were  never  announced  as  debutantes.  No  Rubi 
con  flowed  across  our  path,  —  on  one  side  pinafores 
and  long  braids,  on  the  other  purple-and-fine-linen 
and  elaborate  coiffure,  —  the  which  if  stepped  across 
at  an  entertainment  ushered  us  into  society. 

Lizzie  and  I  felt  that  we  were  young  hostesses,  and 
took  pains  to  be,  according  to  our  lights,  ceremonious 
and  conventional  in  our  behavior.  Some  one  or 
two  of  our  guests  was  sure  to  be  George  Gordon,  or 
James  Southall,  or  "  Jim  "  White,  or  "  Sainty  "  Tucker, 
who  were  as  brothers  to  us ;  and  very  watchful  and 
strict  were  these  boy  chaperons  !  The  great  anxiety 
was  lest  our  visitors  should  stay  too  late.  So  my 
aunt  and  Mrs.  Gilmer  carefully  timed  the  burning 
of  a  candle  until  ten  o'clock,  and  all  candles  there 
after  were  cut  that  length.  When  they  began  to 
flicker  in  the  sockets,  good  nights  were  expected. 

Mrs.  Gilmer's  large  house  was  divided  in  the  mid 
dle  by  a  hall  extending  to  a  door  in  the  rear.  On 
one  side  were  the  bedrooms  of  the  family,  on  the 
other  the  parlors  and  dining-room.  She  spent  her 
evenings  in  a  darkened  room,  just  across  the  hall 
from  the  parlor,  and  although  she  had  not  the  heart 
to  mingle  with  us,  we  knew  she  was  near. 

One  night  we  had  a  number  of  guests,  among  them 


My  Day  59 

a  stranger,  Mr.  Tebbs,  brought  by  one  of  our  own 
band  who  had  introduced  him  and  then  left,  Mr. 
Tebbs  remarking  that  he  too  must  soon  leave,  as  a 
friend  was  down  town  waiting  for  him.  The  candles 
burned  low,  and  we  allowed  long  pauses  in  conver 
sation,  vainly  hoping  the  stranger  would  depart. 
Presently  the  knocker  sounded  an  alarum,  and  little 
Susan  hurried  from  her  mistress's  room  to  answer  it. 
We  distinctly  heard  her  announce,  "  Dish  yer's  a 
letter,  Miss  Ann,"  and  Mrs.  Gilmer's  languid  reply, 
"Light  a  candle  and  read  it  to  me."  We  essayed  to 
drown  Susan's  voice,  for  I  was  quite  sure  it  was  a 
peremptory  order  for  me  to  come  home,  but  it  rang 
out  clearly  and  deliberately,  "  Tebbs,  you  damn  ras 
cal  !  Are  you  going  to  stay  at  Mrs.  Gilmer's  all 
night !  "  To  make  matters  worse,  Susan  immediately 
appeared  with  the  note  for  the  blushing  Mr.  Tebbs, 
who  then  and  there  bade  us  a  long  farewell.  We 
never  saw  him  more  !  A  delicious  little  story  was 
told  with  keen  relish  by  Juliet,  the  fifteen-year-old 
daughter.  She  had,  as  she  thought,  "grown  up," 
while  her  mother  lived  in  seclusion,  and  had  a  boy- 
lover  of  her  own.  Sitting,  after  hours,  one  moon 
light  night  on  the  veranda  under  her  mother's  window, 
the  anxious  youth  was  moved  to  seize  the  propitious 
moment  and  declare  himself.  Juliet  wished  to  answer 
correctly,  and  dismiss  him  without  wounding  him. 
She  assured  him  "Mamma  would  never  consent/ 
A  voice  from  within  decided  the  matter:  "Accept 
the  young  man,  Juliet,  if  you  want  to  —  I've  not  the 
least  objection  —  and  let  him  run  along  home  now. 
Be  sure  to  bolt  the  door  when  you  come  in  !  "  Evi- 


60  My  Day 

dently  Mrs.  Gilmer  had  small  respect  for  boy-lovers  ; 
and  wished  to  go  to  sleep. 

The  Gilmer  home  was  full  of  treasures  of  books 
and  pictures.  We  turned  over  the  great  pages  of 
Hogarth  and  the  illustrations  of  Shakespeare,  very 
much  to  the  damage  of  these  valuable  books.  Choice 
old  Madeira  was  kept  in  the  cellar,  to  which  we  had 
free  access,  mixing  it  with  whipped  cream  or  min 
gling  it  with  ice,  sugar  and  nutmeg  whenever  we  so 
listed.  A  great  gilded  frame  rested  against  the  wall, 
from  which  some  large  painting  had  been  removed. 
Over  this  we  stretched  a  netting  and  inaugurated  table 
aux  vivantes,  of  which  we  never  wearied.  I  was  al 
ways  Rowena,  to  whom  Lizzie,  as  Rebecca  the  Jewess, 
gave  her  jewels.  One  of  the  Gilmer  boys  made  an 
admirable  Dr.  Primrose,  another  Moses,  whom  we 
dressed  for  the  fair,  and  the  other  children  were  flower 
girls,  nuns,  or  pilgrims  with  staff  and  shell. 

When  one  questions  the  possibility  of  this  large 
family  living  for  several  years  without  a  head  and 
moving  about  decorously  and  systematically,  we  must 
not  forget  the  family  butler,  Mandelbert,  and  his  wife, 
Mammy  Grace.  Both  were  long  past  middle  age. 
They  simply  assumed  the  care  of  their  broken-hearted 
mistress  and  her  children,  ruling  the  house  with 
patient  wisdom  and  kindness.  Mammy  Grace,  so 
well  known  fifty  years  ago  in  Virginia,  was  peculiar 
in  her  speech,  retaining  the  imagery  of  her  race  and 
nothing  of  its  dialect.  She  was  straight  and  tall  and 
always  carefully  dressed.  She  wore  a  dark,  close-fit 
ting  gown,  which  she  called  a  "habit,"  a  handkerchief 
of  plaid  madras  crossed  upon  her  bosom,  an  ample 


My  Day  61 

checked  apron,  and  a  cap  with  a  full  mob  crown  like 
Martha  Washington's.  When  she  dropped  her  re 
spectful  "  curtsey/'  her  salutation,  "  Your  servant, 
master,"  was  less  suggestive  of  deference  than  of 
dignified  self-respect.  Her  one  fault  was  that,  like 
her  mistress,  she  never  knew  when  the  children  were 
grown.  This  was  sometimes  embarrassing.  As 
surely  as  8  o'clock  Saturday  night  came,  one  after 
the  other  would  be  called  from  the  parlor,  and  would 
obey  instantly,  for  fear  she  would  add  more  than  a 
hint  of  the  thorough,  personally  superintended  bath 
which  awaited  each  one. 

Mandelbert  was  superb,  tall,  gray,  and  very  stately. 
He  had  been  born  and  trained  in  the  family,  a  model, 
distingue-looking  servant.  Mammy  Grace  lived  to 
an  honored  old  age,  but  a  liberal  use  of  fine  old 
Madeira  proved  the  reverse  of  the  modern  lacteal 
remedy  for  old  age.  In  a  few  years  there  was  no 
more  wine  in  the  cellar  —  and  no  more  Mandelbert. 

The  grandmother  of  the  Gilmer  children  was 
Mrs.  Ann  Baker,  a  lovely  old  lady  who  wore  a  Le- 
titia  Ramolino  turban,  with  little  curls  sewn  within 
its  brim.  She  had  been  a  passenger  on  James 
Rumsey's  boat  in  1786  at  Shepherdstown,  when  he 
was  the  first  to  succeed  by  steam  alone  in  propelling 
a  vessel  against  the  current  of  the  Potomac,  and  "at 
the  rate  of  four  or  five  miles  an  hour  !  "  She  was  a 
lovely,  cultivated  old  lady,  the  widow  of  a  distin 
guished  man.  I  cannot  be  quite  sure,  —  all  witnesses 
are  gone,  —  but  I  have  a  distinct  impression  I  was 
told  that  General  Washington  was  a  passenger  with 
Mrs.  Baker  on  James  Rumsey's  boat. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  year  after  my  fifteenth  birthday  was  des 
tined  to  be  an  eventful  one  to  me.  In  May 
of  that  year  I  wrote  a  letter  to  my  aunt, 
Mrs.  Izard  Bacon  Rice,  who  lived  at  "  The  Oaks  " 
in  Charlotte  County.  This  letter,  the  earliest  ex 
tant  of  my  girlhood,  has  recently  been  placed  in  my 
hands,  and  I  venture  to  hope  I  may  be  pardoned 
for  inserting  the  nai've  production  here ;  not  for  any 
intrinsic  merit,  but  because  of  the  light  it  reflects 
upon  my  development  and  associations  at  the  age 
of  fifteen, — a  light  not  to  be  acquired  by  mere  recol 
lection,  as  a  photograph  of  the  person  must  be 
more  lifelike  than  a  sketch  from  memory. 

"  CHARLOTTESVILLE,  May  25,   1845. 

"Mv  DEAR  AUNT:  I  think  that  I  have  fully  tested  the 
truth  of  the  old  saying,  viz.  '  Hope  deferred  maketh  the 
heart  sick/  for  I  have  hoped  and  hoped  in  vain  for  an 
answer  to  my  last  letter,  and  since  it  does  not  make  its 
appearance,  I  write  to  request  an  explanation. 

u  I  received  a  letter  from  Willie  (Carrington)  this  morn 
ing,  and  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  you  still  intend  coming 
to  Charlottesville  '  some  of  these  times,'  and  that  she 
thinks  of  coming  also.  I  am  overjoyed  at  the  idea  of  see 
ing  my  dear  little  Henry,  and  Tom  in  a  few  weeks.  Willie 
says  that  Henry  is  beautiful,  and  that  Tom  has  become 
quite  a  famous  beau,  improved  wonderfully  in  gallantry,  etc. 
I  anticipate  a  great  many  long,  pleasant  walks  with  him, 

62 


My  Day  63 

though  I  am  afraid  he  will  not  like  Charlottesville,  as  he 
will  find  no  rabbits'  tracks  or  partridges  here.  I  hope  you 
will  come  the  first  of  June  and  stay  a  long  while  with  us. 

u  Aunt  Mary  has  been  very  unwell  for  a  long  time,  but 
I  am  in  hopes  that  she  is  getting  a  little  better.  I  think 
your  visit  will  improve  her  wonderfully.  We  are  all  as 
busy  as  we  can  be :  aunt  and  uncle  in  the  garden  and  yard, 
and  I  studying  my  French  lessons,  sewing,  reading,  and 
housekeeping  for  Aunt  Mary  when  she  is  sick.  I  am 
very  disconsolate  at  the  thought  of  losing  my  most  intimate 
friend  (Lizzie  Gilmer)  for  a  few  months.  She  is  going  to 
Staunton,  and  I  expect  to  miss  her  very  much.  We  have 
a  very  quiet  time  now  —  as  most  of  my  acquaintances  were 
sent  off  2^.  the  late  disturbances  at  the  University,  and  I  can 
study,  undisturbed  by  company.  I  scarcely  visit  any  one 
except  Lizzy,  and  receive  more  visits  from  her  than  any 
one  else,  as  she  comes  every  day,  and  frequently  two  or 
three  times  a  day.  I  am  going  to  spend  my  last  evening 
with  her  this  evening,  as  she  leaves  to-morrow.  I  am  very 
sorry  that  Willie  will  not  see  her,  as  I  know  they  would 
like  each  other. 

"  Who  do  you  think  I  have  had  a  visit  from  ?  No  less 
a  personage  than  Dr.  Schele  de  Vere,  professor  of  modern 
languages  at  the  University.  He  has  called  on  me  twice, 
but  I,  unfortunately,  was  not  at  home  once  when  he  called. 
He  is  a  German  (one  of  the  nobility),  and  speaks  our  lan 
guage  shockingly,  and  is  such  an  incessant  chatterer  that  he 
gives  me  no  possible  chance  of  wedging  in  a  syllable.  He 
walked  with  me  from  church  last  Sunday,  and  jabbered  in 
cessantly,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  congregation  in 
general,  but  particularly  of  two  little  boys  who  walked  be 
hind  us.  When  he  parted  with  us,  he  asked  uncle's  per 
mission  to  visit  us,  which  was  granted ;  and  he  seemed 
very  grateful,  and  said  he  '  would  have  de  pleasure  den  of 
sharing  de  doctor's  hospitality  and  hearing  some  of  Miss 


64  My  Day 

Rice's  fine  music/  But  what  mortifies  me  beyond  meas 
ure  is  that  he  treats  me  as  a  little  child,  and  inquires  most 
affectionately  about  my  progress  in  music,  etc.  He  is  not 
so  much  older  than  I  am,  either,  as  he  is  only  twenty-one, 
so  /think  he  might  be  more  respectful  in  his  demeanor. 
What  do  you  think  of  it  all  ?  He  plays  very  well  on  the 
piano,  and  has  heard  the  best  performers  in  Europe,  so  I 
feel  very  reluctant  to  play  for  him.  The  first  time  he 
heard  me  play,  he  wanted  to  applaud  me  as  they  do  at  con 
certs,  but  he  was  checked  by  one  of  the  company,  who  inti 
mated  to  him  that  it  was  not  customary  in  this  country,  so 
he  contented  himself  with  clapping  his  hands  several  times. 
"  I  have  neither  time  nor  paper  for  much  more,  so  good- 
by.  Aunt  Mary  joins  me  in  love  and  a  kiss  to  all  grand 
father's  household  and  to  Tom,  Henry,  and  Uncle  Izard. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"SARA  A.  RICE. 

"  P.S.  I  send  my  best  respects  to  Lethe,  Viny,  and  Aunt 
Chany,  and  my  love  to  all  the  ducks,  geese,  chickens,  tur 
keys,  and  Tom's  dogs. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"SARA  A.  RICE." 

This  sixty-four-year-old  letter  was  beautifully  writ 
ten  with  a  quill  pen,  clear  and  distinct  without  an 
erasure,  blotted  with  sand  from  a  perforated  box, 
without  envelope,  and  sealed  with  wax.  Written  in 
figures  upon  the  envelope  was  "  Uncle  Sam's  "  re 
ceipt  for  prepaid  postage,  12^  cents,  no  stamps  hav 
ing  then  been  issued  by  him. 

Fanciful  seals  and  motto  wafers  were  in  high  favor 
among  romantic  young  people.  "  L'amitie  c'est 
1'amour  sans  ailes "  was  a  prime  favorite ;  also  a 
maiden  in  a  shallop  looking  upward  to  a  star,  the 


My  Day  65 

legend  "  Si  je  te  perds  je  suis  perdu."  The  most 
delicate  refusal  to  a  lover  on  record  was  the  lady's 
card,  "  With  thanks,"  sealed  with  a  bird  in  flight  and 
"  Liberty  is  sweet !  " 

The  "  disturbances  of  late,"  for  which  my  friends 
were  "  suspended  for  a  month,"  were  not  of  a  serious 
nature.  They  were  only  the  midnight  pranks  of 
mischievous  boys,  such  as  hyphenating  the  livery- 
stable's  name  "  Le  Tellier  "  to  read  "  Letel-Liar,  " 
drawing  his  "  hacks  "  to  the  doors  of  the  citizens, 
placing  the  undertaker's  sign  over  the  physician's 
office,  driving  Mr.  Schele's  ponies,  and  leaving  on 
their  flanks  the  painted  words  "  So  far  for  to-day," 
the  phrase  with  which  he  invariably  ended  his  lec 
tures.  It  remained  later  for  the  student  in  whom  I 
was  most  interested  to  excel  them  all.  He  drove  a 
flock  of  sheep  one  dark  night  up  the  rotunda  stairs 
to  the  platform  on  the  roof,  and  then  shut  down  the 
trap-door.  A  plaintive  good-morning-bleating  wel 
comed  faculty  and  students  next  day.  Needless  to 
say,  the  valiant  shepherd  was  "  suspended." 

Late  in  the  summer  of  this  year  another  large 
convention  of  clergymen,  Presbyterian  this  time, 
was  held  at  Charlottesville.  No  good  hotel  could 
be  found  anywhere  in  Virginia.  The  landlord  was 
ruined  by  the  hospitality  of  the  citizens.  As  soon 
as  a  pleasant  stranger  "  put  up  "  at  a  public  house, 
he  was  claimed  as  a  guest  by  the  first  man  who  could 
reach  him. 

When  large  religious  or  political  or  literary  meet 
ings  convened  in  our  town,  my  uncle  would  send 
to  the  chairman  asking  for  the  number  of  guests 


66  My  Day 

we  could  entertain.  Until  they  arrived,  we  were  as 
much  on  the  qui  vive  as  if  we  had  bought  numbers 
in  a  lottery. 

On  this  occasion,  Lizzie  and  I  were  in  great  grief. 
She  had  been  away  from  town  for  two  months,  and 
was  now  to  make  me  a  long  visit.  We  had  made 
plans  for  a  lovely  week.  Now  the  house  would  be 
filled  with  clergymen,  —  no  music,  no  visitors  (and 
Lizzie  was  engaged),  no  "fun"!  My  aunt  sym 
pathized  with  us,  and  fitted  up  a  small  room  at  the 
far  end  of  the  hall,  moved  in  the  piano  and  guitar, 
and  bade  us  make  ourselves  at  home. 

We  were  seated  at  church  behind  a  row  of  the 
grave  and  reverend  seniors,  when  Dr.  White  leaned 
over  our  pew  and  said  to  one  of  them, "  I'm  glad  to 
tell  you  I  can  send  you  to  Dr.  Hargrave's.  He 
will  take  fine  care  of  you." 

"  But,"  demurred  the  reverend  gentleman,  "  I 
have  my  son  with  me." 

"  Take  him  along  !  There's  plenty  of  room,"  re 
plied  the  doctor. 

Lizzie  gave  me  a  despairing  glance.  Now  we  are 
ruined,  we  thought.  A  dreadful  small  boy  to  be 
amused  and  kept  out  of  mischief. 

That  afternoon  we  were  condoling  with  each  other 
in  our  little  city  of  refuge,  when  the  opening  front 
door  revealed  among  our  guests  a  slender  youth, 
who,  upon  being  directed  to  his  room,  sprang  up 
the  stairs  two  or  three  steps  at  a  time. 

"  Mercy  !  "  said  I.  "  Worse  and  worse  !  There's 
no  hope  for  us  !  A  strange  young  man  to  be  enter 
tained  in  our  little  parlor  !  " 


My  Day  67 

My  aunt  entering  just  then,  we  confided  our  mis 
eries  to  her.  "  Never  mind,  Lizzie/'  she  said,  "  Sara 
shall  keep  him  in  the  large  room.  She  must  bring 
down  all  her  prettiest  books  and  pictures  and  ar 
range  a  table  in  a  corner  for  his  amusement.  He 
will  not  be  here  much  of  the  time.  He  has  to  go 
to  church  with  his  father,  you  know." 

The  name  of  this  unwelcome  intruder  was  Roger 
A.  Pryor.  He  made  himself  charming.  I  had  not 
yet  tucked  up  my  long  braids,  but  he  treated  me 
beautifully.  He  was  so  alert,  so  witty,  so  amiable, 
that  he  was  unanimously  voted  the  freedom  of  our 
sanctum.  He  entered  with  glee  into  our  schemes 
for  self-defence.  Running  out  to  a  shrub  on  the  lawn, 
he  returned  with  a  handful  of  "  wax  berries,"  gravely 
explained,  "  ammunition,"  and  proceeded  to  test  the 
range  of  the  missile.  Just  then  one  of  the  enemy,  the 
great  Dr.  Plumer,  entered  the  hall,  and  the  soft  berry 
neatly  reached  his  dignified  nose.  His  Reverence 
gave  no  sign  of  intelligence.  He  had  been  a  boy  him 
self! 

St.  George  Tucker  took  an  immense  fancy  to  our 
new  ally.  He  found  a  great  deal  to  say  to  me. 
How  glad  was  I  that  my  aunt  had  given  me  a  new 
rose-colored  silk  bonnet  from  Mme.  Viglini's. 

The  week  passed  like  a  dream.  When  the  stage 
drew  up  at  midnight  to  take  our  guest  to  the  rail 
road,  seven  miles  distant,  we  were  both  very  triste 
at  parting. 

He  was  sixteen  years  old,  was  to  graduate  next 
summer  at  Hampden  Sidney  College,  and  come  the 
session  afterward  to  our  University.  I  hoped  all 


68  My  Day 

would  go  well  with  him;  and  after  the  winding  horn 
of  the  stage  was  quite  out  of  hearing,  I, — well,  I  had 
been  taught  early  to  entreat  the  Father  of  all  to  take 
care  of  my  friends.  There  could  be  no  great  harm 
in  including  him  by  name,  nor  yet  in  adding  to  my 
petition  the  words  "for  me!" 

I  suppose  I  may  have  seemed  a  bit  distrait  after 
this  incident,  for  my  uncle,  who  was  always  devising 
occupation  for  me,  insisted  upon  my  writing  a  story. 
I  liked  to  please  him,  and  I  surprised  him  by  produc 
ing  a  love  story.  I  think  I  called  it "  The  Birthnight 
Ball."  I  remember  this  quotation,  which  I  con 
sidered  quite  delicate  and  suggestive  :  — 

"  The  stars,  with  vain  ambition,  emulate  her  eyes." 
That  is  all  I  remember  of  my  story.  My  uncle  sent 
it  to  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  in  Philadelphia  and 
it  was  accepted,  the  editor  proposing,  as  I  was  a  young 
writer,  to  waive  the  honorarium  I  I  was  only  too  glad 
to  accept  the  honor. 

In  the  autumn  my  uncle  took  us  on  a  long  journey 
to  Niagara  Falls  and  the  Northern  Lakes.  In  New 
York  we  stopped  at  the  Astor  House  on  Broadway, 
and  my  room  looked  into  the  park  then  opposite, 
where  scarlet  flamingoes  gathered  around  a  fountain. 
We  walked  in  the  beautiful  Bowling  Green  Park, 
then  the  fashionable  promenade,  took  tea  with  the 
Miss  Bleeckers  on  Bleecker  Street,  and  bought  a  lovely 
set  of  turquoises,  a  jewelled  comb,  and  a  white  topaz 
brooch  from  Tiffany's.  Moreover,  my  seat  at  table 
was  near  that  of  John  Quincy  Adams,  now  an  aged 
man,  paralytic,  and  almost  incapable  of  conveying 
his  food  to  his  lips.  He  was  charmingly  cheer- 


My  Day  69 

ful,  and  courteous  to  a  sweet-faced  lady  who 
attended  him. 

I  think  we  took  the  canal-boat  in  Schenectady 
which  was  to  convey  us  across  the  state  of  New 
York. 

My  uncle  had  been  beguiled  in  New  York  by  a 
flaming  pictorial  advertisement  of  palatial  packet- 
boats,  drawn  by  spirited  horses  galloping  at  full  speed. 
When  we  entered  our  little  craft,  we  found  it  so 
crowded  that  we  were  wretchedly  uncomfortable. 
Possibly,  in  our  ignorance,  we  had  not  taken  the  fine 
packet  of  the  advertisement.  Our  own  boat  crawled 
along  at  a  snail's  pace,  making  three  or  four  miles  an 
hour.  Many  of  the  passengers  left  it  every  morning, 
preferring  to  walk  ahead  and  wait  for  us  until  night. 
We  made  the  journey  in  five  or  six  days.  The 
heat,  the  discomfort,  the  mosquitoes !  Who  can 
imagine  the  misery  of  that  journey  ?  Fresh  from  the 
mountains  and  gorgeous  sunsets  of  Albemarle,  we 
found  little  to  admire  in  the  scenery. 

As  to  the  Falls,  which  we  had  come  so  far  to  see 
—  they  and  their  entourage  made  me  ill.  It  was  all 
so  weird  and  strange ;  the  dark  forests  of  evergreen, 
pine,  and  spruce  ;  the  sullen  Indians,  squatted  around 
blankets,  embroidering  with  beads  and  porcupine 
quills ;  the  hapless  little  Indian  babies  strapped  to 
boards  and  swinging  in  the  trees,  and  over  all,  the 
heavy  roar  of  the  waters.  The  immensity  of  their 
power  filled  me  with  terror.  I  longed  to  get  away 
from  the  awful  spectacle. 

The  best  part  of  a  journey  is  the  home-coming. 
The  dear  familiar  house,  —  we  never  knew  how  good 


70  My  Day 

it  was,  —  the  welcome  of  affectionate,  cheerful  ser 
vants ;  the  dogs  beside  themselves  with  joy,  the  per 
fect  peace,  leisure,  relaxation  !  Flowers,  fruit,  and 
much  accumulated  mail  awaited  us.  My  keen  eye 
detected  a  large-enveloped  paper  from  Philadelphia, 
and  my  nimble  fingers  quickly  abstracted  it,  unper- 
ceived,  from  the  miscellaneous  heap,  and  consigned 
it  to  a  bureau  drawer  in  my  room,  the  key  of  which 
went  into  my  pocket. 

In  the  privacy  of  my  bedtime  hour  —  having 
bolted  the  door  —  I  drew  it  forth.  Oh,  what  in 
ane  foolishness  !  What  sad  trash  !  Tearing  it  into 
strips,  I  lighted  each  one  at  my  candle  and  saw 
the  whole  burned  —  burned  to  impalpable  smoke 
and  degraded  dust  and  ashes ;  consigned  then  and 
there  to  utter  oblivion  ! 

My  uncle  often  wondered  why  the  story  had  not 
appeared.  There  was  a  perilous  moment  when  he 
threatened  to  write  to  the  publishers,  but  I  per 
suaded  him  to  be  patient  and  dignified  about  it,  and 
the  matter,  after  a  while,  was  forgotten.  Never  was 
an  uncle  so  managed  by  a  young  girl ! 

I  think  my  great  card  with  him  was  my  interest 
in  his  office  work.  Physicians  compounded  and 
prepared  their  own  prescriptions  sixty-five  years  ago. 
He  delighted  in  me  when  I  donned  my  ample  apron 
and,  armed  with  scales  and  spatula,  gravely  assumed 
the  airs  of  a  physician's  assistant.  I  knew  all  his 
professional  manoeuvres  to  satisfy  hypochondriac  old 
gentlemen  and  nervous  old  ladies.  I  learned  to 
make  the  innocuous  pills  which  "  helped  "  them  "  so 
much,"  and  the  carminative  for  the  aching  little  stom- 


MRS.  FANNY  BLAND  RANDOLPH. 


My  Day  71 

achs  of  the  babies.  Great  have  been  the  strides  since 
then  in  the  noblest  of  all  professions  ! 

Just  here  I  venture  to  illustrate  some  of  the  radi 
cal  changes  in  the  practice  of  medicine  by  extracts 
from  a  letter  written  by  Dr.  Theodorick  Bland  to 
his  sister,  Fanny  Bland  Randolph.  The  letter  is 
copied  from  the  original  in  the  possession  of  the  late 
Joseph  Bryan  of  Richmond,  Virginia. 

The  treatment  in  1840  differed  in  no  material 
particular  from  that  of  1771,  when  Dr.  Bland 
prescribed  —  regretting  the  necessity  of  "absent 
treatment"  —  to  his  sister's  husband,  John  Ran 
dolph,  as  follows  :  — 

u  I  take  Mr.  Randolph's  case  to  be  a  bilious  intermit 
tent,  something  of  the  inflammatory  kind,  which,  had  he 
been  bled  pretty  plentifully  in  the  beginning,  would  have 
intermitted  perfectly;  but  unless  his  pulse  is  hard  and,  as  it 
were,  laboring  and  strong,  I  would  not  advise  that  he  should 
now  be  bled ;  but  if  they  are  strong  and  his  head-ache  vio 
lent,  and  the  weight  of  the  stomach  great,  let  him  lose 
about  six  ounces  of  blood  from  the  arm,  and  if  he  is  much 
relieved  from  that,  and  his  pulse  rises  and  is  full  and  strong 
after  it,  a  little  more  may  be  taken.  Let  his  body  be  kept 
open  by  Clysters,  made  with  chicken  water,  molasses,  de 
coction  of  marsh-mallows  and  manna,  given  once,  twice  or 
three  times,  —  nay,  even  four  times  a  day  if  occasion  re 
quires,  and  let  him  have  manna  and  cream  of  tartar  dis 
solved  in  Barley  Water,  —  one  ounce  of  manna  and  a  half 
ounce  of  Cream  of  Tartar  to  every  pint.  Of  this  let  him 
drink  plentifully,  but  prior  to  this,  after  bleeding  (should 
bleeding  be  necessary)  let  him  take  a  vomit  of  Ipecac,  four 
grains  every  half  hour  until  he  has  four  or  five  plentiful 
vomits,  drinking  plentifully  of  Camomile  Tea  (to  three  or 


72  My  Day 

four  pints  at  intervals)  to  work  it  off.  Should  the  pain  in 
the  head  be  violent  and  the  eyes  red  and  heavy,  let  his  tem 
ples  be  cupped  or  leeches  applied  to  his  temples,  which 
operation  may  be  repeated  every  day,  if  he  find  relief  from 
it,  for  two  or  three  days.  If  the  manna,  Cream  of  Tartar 
and  Clysters  be  not  effectual,  let  him  take  fifteen  grains  of 
rhubarb  and  as  many  of  Vitriolated  Tartar,  repeating  the 
dose,  twice  or  three  times  at  six  or  eight  hours  intervals. 
Should  he  have  any  catching  of  the  nerves,  let  one  of  the 
powders  be  given  every  four  hours  in  a  spoonful  of  jalop  or 
pennyroyal  water.  Should  he  be  delirious,  sleepy,  or  dozing 
in  a  half  kind  of  a  sleep,  his  pulse  small  and  quick,  put 
blisters  to  his  back,  arms  and  legs,  and  leeches  and  cupping 
to  his  temples.  If  his  skin  should  be  hot,  dry  and  parched 
after  he  has  taken  his  vomit  or  before,  let  him  be  put  in  a 
tub  of  warm  water  with  vinegar  in  it,  up  to  his  arm-pits  and 
continue  in  it  as  long  as  he  can  bear  it,  first  wetting  his 
head  therein.  He  may,  now  and  then,  drink  a  little  claret- 
whey  and  have  his  tongue  sponged  with  sage-tea,  honey 
and  vinegar.  Dear  Fanny,  with  sincere  wishes  for  his  safe 
and  speedy  recovery,  and  love  to  him  and  your  dear  little 
ones, 

"  Your  affectionate  brother, 

"  T.  BLAND." 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  that  one  of  the  "  dear 
little  ones"  was  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke  —  that 
incarnation  of  genius  and  outrageous  temper.  His 
father  survived  Dr.  Eland's  treatment  only  a  few 
years.  Still,  fidelity  to  historic  truth  impels  me  to 
state  that  we  have  no  evidence  that  the  doctor  was 
in  league  with  Henry  St.  George  Tucker,  who  al 
most  immediately  married  the  widow ! 


CHAPTER   X 

MANY  of  the  best  types  of  purely  American 
society  could  have  been  found  in  the  forties 
in  the  towns  of  the  country.  Now  every 
body,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  seeks  a  home  in 
the  cities.  It  is  not  without  reason  that  all  classes 
should  flock  to  the  metropolis.  There  wealth  can 
be  enjoyed,  poverty  aided,  talent  appreciated ;  but 
there  individual  influence  is  almost  lost.  The 
temptation  to  self-assertion,  repugnant  as  it  is  to  re 
fined  feeling,  is  almost  irresistible.  Men  and  women 
must  assert  themselves  or  sink  into  oblivion.  No 
body  has  time  to  climb  the  rickety  stairs  to  find  the 
genius  in  the  attic.  Nobody  looks  for  the  states 
man  among  the  serene  adherents  to  the  "Simple 
Life."  Had  Cincinnatus  lived  at  this  day,  he  would 
have  ploughed  to  the  end  of  his  furrow.  Nobody 
would  have  interrupted  him. 

The  absence  of  all  the  hurry  and  fever  of  life  made 
the  little  town  of  Charlottesville  an  ideal  home  before 
the  cataclysm  of  1861.  The  professors  at  the  Uni 
versity  could  live,  in  the  moderate  age,  upon  their 
modest  salaries,  and  have  something  to  spare  for 
entertaining.  The  village  contingent  was  refined, 
amiable,  and  intelligent.  Staunton  sent  us,  every 
winter,  her  young  ladies,  the  daughters  of  Judge 
Lucas  Thompson,  all  of  whom  were  finally  absorbed 

73 


74  My  Day 

by  the  descendants  of  Charles  Carroll,  of  Carrollton, 
Maryland.  From  the  neighborhood  on  the  Buck- 
mountain  Road  came  the  family  of  William  C.  Rives, 
twice  our  envoy  to  the  Court  of  Versailles,  and  many 
times  sent  to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States.  The 
"gallant  Gordons,  many  a  one/'  the  Randolphs  and 
Pages,  and  Mr.  Stevenson,  late  Minister  to  England, 
—  all  these  lived  near  enough  to  be  neighbors  and 
visitors.  Across  Moore's  Creek,  at  the  foot  of 
Monticello,  was  the  house  of  Mr.  Alexander  Rives. 
There  lived  my  sweet  friend  and  bridesmaid,  Eliza 
Rives,  and  there  I  could  call  for  a  glass  of  lemonade 
when  on  my  way  to  Monticello,  guiding,  as  I  often 
did,  some  stranger-guest  to  visit  the  home  of  Thomas 
Jefferson.  We  would  pass  through  the  straggling 
bushes  of  Scottish  broom  which  bordered  the  road — 
planted  originally  by  Mr.  Jefferson  himself — pause 
at  the  modest  monument  over  his  ashes,  and  rever 
ently  ponder  the  inscription  thereon.  In  his  own 
handwriting,  among  his  papers,  had  been  found  the 
record  he  desired  —  not  that  he  had  been  Minister 
to  France  and  Secretary  of  State,  not  that  he  had  been 
twice  President  of  the  United  States,  but  simply, — 

"  Here  lies  buried  Thomas  Jefferson,  Author  of  the 
Declaration  of  American  Independence,  of  the  Statute  of 
Virginia  for  Religious  Freedom,  and  Father  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  Virginia." 

A  few  steps  through  the  woods  would  bring  us  to 
the  plateau  commanding  the  noble  view  I  have  tried 
to  describe.  I  loved  the  spot,  the  glorious  moun 
tains,  the  glimpse  at  our  feet  of  the  Greek  temple 


My  Day  75 

in  its  sacred  grove,  the  atmosphere  of  mystery  and 
romance.  Once  I  saw  a  solitary  fleur-de-lis  unfurl 
ing  its  imperial  banner  on  the  site  of  the  abandoned 
garden.  Once  I  was  permitted,  in  the  absence  of 
the  owner,  to  explore  an  upper  floor  in  the  villa,  and 
was  startled  by  a  white,  strained  face  gleaming  out 
from  a  dim  alcove.  This  was  the  bust  of  Voltaire. 
A  happy,  happy  young  girl  was  I  on  these  rides, 
mounted  on  my  own  horse,  Phil  Duval,  and  not 
unconscious  of  my  becoming  green  cloth  habit, 
green  velvet  turban,  and  long  green  feather,  fastened 
with  a  diamond  buckle  —  as  I  believed  it  to  be ! 

Young  girls  reared  in  a  university  town  and  ad 
mitted  to  the  friendship  of  the  professors'  families 
must  be  dull  indeed  if  they  absorb  nothing  from 
the  literary  atmosphere.  My  dear  aunt  was  an 
accomplished  English  scholar.  Her  father  had 
been  the  friend  and  neighbor  of  Patrick  Henry, 
her  husband  had  been  one  of  John  Randolph's  phy 
sicians.  My  close  friends,  the  Gilmers,  Southalls, 
and  the  daughters  of  Professor  Harrison,  all  had 
brothers  who  were  students,  and  we  strove  to  keep 
pace  with  these  fine  young  fellows  and  meet  them 
on  English  ground  at  least. 

We  had  no  circulating  library  in  Charlottesville, 
and  depended  upon  the  mails  for  our  current  literature. 
We  saw  Graham  s  Magazine  from  Philadelphia,  the 
Home  Journal  from  New  York,  the  Southern  Liter 
ary  Messenger  from  Richmond.  Dickens's  novels 
reached  us  from  London,  issued  then  in  monthly 
sections,  and  we  impatiently  awaited  them.  "  Oh, 
Sara,  have  you  been  introduced  to  Mr.  Toots?" 


j6  My  Day 

wrote  Maria  Gordon ;  "he  is  so  much  in  love  with 
Florence  Dombey,  he  c  feels  as  if  somebody  was 
a-settin'on  him  ! ' 

We  liked  Dickens  better  than  Walter  Scott.  We 
found  the  remarks  of  Captain  Clutterbuck  and  the 
Rev.  Dryasdust  hard  to  bear,  barring  the  door  to  the 
enchanted  palace  until  they  had  their  say.  To  be 
sure,  Dickens  could  be  tiresome  too,  pausing  in  the 
middle  of  an  exciting  story  while  somebody  —  the 
"stroller"  or  the  "bagman" — related  something 
wholly  irrelevant.  To  my  mind,  a  story  within  a 
story  was  a  nuisance.  It  was  like  a  patch  on  a 
garment.  The  garment  might  be  homespun  and  the 
patch  satin,  but  it  was  a  blemish,  nevertheless,  some 
thing  put  on  to  help  a  weak  place.  I  skipped  these 
stories  then  and  skip  them  now ! 

As  to  Thackeray,  I  blush  to  say  we  did  not  appre 
ciate  him  when  he  appeared  as  "  Michael  Angelo 
Titmarsh."  But  we  all  knew  Becky  !  She  was  only 
a  sublimated  little  Miss  Betsy  Stevens,  a  ragged 
mountain  woman  who  sold  peaches  on  a  small  com 
mission,  and  who,  like  Becky,  having  "  no  mamma" 
or  other  asset,  lived  by  her  wits. 

Perhaps  in  our  estimation  of  Thackeray  we 
were  guided  somewhat  by  his  own  countrymen.  An 
English  paper  fell  in  our  hands  which  was  not  at 
all  respectful  to  "  Chawls-Yellowplush-Angelo-Tit- 
marsh-Jeames-William-Makepeace-Thackeray,  Es 
quire  of  London  Town  in  old  England."  Such 
ridicule  would  soon  settle  him !  No  man  could 
survive  it. 

None  of  the  visiting  authors  deigned  to  call  on 


My  Day  77 

us, —  Thackeray,  Dickens,  Miss  Martineau, —  all 
passed  us  by.  True,  Frederika  Bremer  conde 
scended  to  spend  a  night  with  her  compatriot,  Mr. 
Schele  de  Vere,  en  route  to  the  South,  where  she  was 
to  find  little  to  admire  except  bananas.  Mr.  Schele 
invited  a  choice  company  to  spend  the  one  evening 
Miss  Bremer  granted  him.  Her  novels  were  ex 
tremely  popular  with  us.  Every  one  was  on  tiptoe 
of  pleased  anticipation.  While  the  waiting  company 
eagerly  expected  her,  the  door  opened  —  not  for 
Miss  Bremer,  but  her  companion,  who  an 
nounced  :  — 

"  Miss  Bremer,  she  beg  excuse.  She  ver  tired 
and  must  sleep  !  If  she  come,  she  gape  in  your 
noses  ! " 

Alas  for  tourist's  help  in  the  translating  books  ! 
"Face"  and  "nose,"  "gape"  and  "yawn,"  al 
though  not  synonymic,  bear  at  least  a  cousinly  re 
lation  to  each  other. 

The  beautiful  Christian  custom  of  lighting  a  Christ 
mas  tree  —  bringing  "  the  glory  of  Lebanon,  the  fir 
tree,  the  pine  tree,  and  the  box,"  to  hallow  our  festival 
—  had  not  yet  obtained  in  Virginia.  We  had  heard 
much  of  the  German  Christmas  tree,  but  had  never 
seen  one.  Lizzie  Gilmer,  who  was  to  marry  a  younger 
son  of  the  house,  was  intimate  with  the  Tuckers, 
and  brought  great  reports  of  the  preparation  of  the 
first  Christmas  tree  ever  seen  in  Virginia. 

I  had  not  yet  been  allowed  to  attend  the  parties 
of  "grown-up"  people,  but  our  young  friend  John 
Randolph  Tucker  was  coming  of  age  on  Christmas 
Eve,  and  great  pressure  was  brought  to  bear  upon 


78  My  Day 

my  aunt  to  permit  me  to  attend  the  birthday  cele 
bration.  This  was  a  memorable  occasion.  "  Rare 
Ran  Tucker "  was  a  prime  favorite  with  the  older 
set,  handsome,  distingue,  and  already  marked  for  the 
high  place  he  attained  later  on  the  honor  roll  of  his 
country. 

My  aunt  could  not  persist  in  her  rules  for  me, 
and  I  was  permitted,  provided  I  went  as  "  a  little 
girl  in  a  high-necked  dress,"  to  accompany  Lizzie. 
My  much-discussed  gown  was  of  blue  silk,  open 
ing  over  white,  and  laced  from  throat  to  hem  with 
narrow  black  velvet !  Never,  never  was  girl  as 
happy  !  The  tree  loaded  with  tiny  baskets  of  bon 
bons,  each  enriched  with  an  original  rhyming  jest  or 
sentiment,  was  magnificent,  the  supper  delicious,  the 
speeches  and  poems  from  the  two  old  judges  (Tucker) 
were  apt  and  witty.  I  went  as  a  little  girl  —  a  close 
bud  —  but  no  "  high-necked"  gown  ever  prisoned  a 
happier  heart. 

It  seems  to  me,  as  I  look  back,  that  my  Univer 
sity  friends,  Mr.  Schele  de  Vere,  James  Southall, 
William  C.  Rives,  Jr.,  George  Wythe  Randolph, 
Roger  Pryor,  et  aL,  felt  all  at  once  a  very  kind  interest 
in  my  education.  They  sent  me  no  end  of  books. 
The  last  presented  me  with  a  gorgeous  Shakespeare, 
also  Macaulay's  "Essays,"  Hazlitt's  "Age  of  Eliza 
beth  "  and  Leigh  Hunt's  "Fancy  and  Imagination," 
and  came  himself  to  read  them  to  me,  along  with 
Shelley,  Keats,  Byron,  and  Coleridge.  Mr.  Schele 
sent  me  much  music  and  French  literature,  he  also 
coming  to  read  the  latter  with  me.  William  C.  Rives 
loved  my  music,  to  which  he  could  listen  by  the 


My  Day  79 

hour.  I  kept  the  friendship  of  these  brilliant  men 
as  long  as  they  lived.  Only  two  lived  to  be  old. 

The  Tuckers  were  a  family  of  literary  distinction  — 
One  of  the  happiest  and  wittiest  of  them  was  my 
dear  Lizzie's  husband,  St.  George  Tucker.  Any 
thing,  everything,  would  provoke  a  pun,  a  parody, 
or  a  graceful  rhyme. 

When  it  was  proposed  to  change  the  name  of 
"  Competition  "  —  a  court-house  village  in  the  county 
of  Pittsylvania — to  "Chatham,"  he  produced  a 
pencil  and  paper,  and  in  a  moment  gave  :  — 

(t  Illustrious  Pitt,  how  glorious  is  thy  fame, 
When  Competition  dies  in  Chatham's  name." 

He  was  a  friend  of  G.  P.  R.  James,  whom  he  once 
surprised  eating  a  very  "  ripe  "  cheese. 

"  You  see,  Tucker,  I  am,  like  Samson,  slaying  my 
thousands." 

"  And  with  the  same  weapon  ? "  inquired  St. 
George. 

We  had  a  delightful  addition  to  our  society  in 
Powhatan  Starke,  who  came  from  the  Eastern  Shore, 
and  spent  a  year  first  as  a  guest  of  the  Southalls, 
and  later  of  all  of  us.  He  seemed  to  have  been 
created  for  the  express  purpose  of  making  people 
happy.  He  would  have  us  all  convulsed  with  laugh 
ter  while  he  held  the  woollen  skeins  for  my  aunt's 
knitting.  He  taught  me  on  the  piano  waltzes  not 
to  be  found  in  the  books  ;  and  the  polka,  a  new 
dance  with  picturesque  figures  just  then  introduced. 
He  joined  in  and  enhanced  every  scheme  for  pleasure, 
and  would  finally  spend  half  the  night  serenading  us. 


8o  My  Day 

"  The  serenade,"  according  to  a  recent  definition, 
"is  a  cherished  courtship  custom  of  primitive  socie 
ties."  Courtship  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  in  1847. 
It  was  only  a  delicate  compliment  to  ladies  who  had 
entertained  the  serenaders.  Four  or  five  voices  in 
unison  would  sing  such  songs  as  "  Oft  in  the  Stilly 
Night,"  "The  Last  Rose  of  Summer,"  "Eileen 
Aroon,"  "Flow  Gently,  Sweet  Afton,"  and  one 
voice  render  Rizzio's  lovely  song :  — 

"  Queen  of  my  soul  whose  starlit  eyes 
Are  all  the  light  I  seek, 
Whose  voice  in  sweetest  melodies 
Can  love  or  pardon  speak  ; 
I  yield  me  to  thy  soft  control 
Mary  —  Mary  —  Queen  of  my  soul  ! 
(  Chorus}  Mary  !  Mary  !  Queen  of  my  soul  ! ' ' 

With  the  first  twang  of  the  guitar  strings  we  would 
slip  from  our  beds,  find  our  shawls  and  slippers,  and 
creep  downstairs.  Crouched  close  to  the  door,  we 
would  listen  for  Five  I' amour,  the  song  always  con 
cluding  the  serenade  :  — 

"  Let  every  bachelor  fill  up  his  glass, 

Vive  la  Compagnie  ! 

And  drink  to  the  health  of  his  favorite  lass, 
Vive  la  Compagnie  ! ' ' 

And  just  here,  rising  as  it  were  to  a  question  of  privi 
lege  concerning  individual  rights,  let  me  solemnly 
assure  my  reader  that  I  do  not  plagiarize  from 
"  Trilby."  The  low-hanging  fruit  of  Mr.  Du 
Maurier's  bountiful  orchard  is  to  be  desired  to 
make  wise  the  daughters  of  Eve,  but  this  Eve  has 
no  occasion  to  rob  it.  Au  contraire !  Powhatan 


My  Day  81 

Starke  had  brought  this  song  from  Paris  in  the 
forties  and  sung  it  for  us  twenty  years  before,  ac 
cording  to  Du  Maurier,  the  "  genteel  Carnegie " 
had  given  it  in  his  hiccupy  voice  to  the  Laird, 
Taffy,  Little  Billie,  Dodor,  Zouzou,  and  the  rest. 

Personally,  I  should  like  to  help  myself  with  both 
hands  to  the  clever  things  the  young  authors  are 
writing.  But  I  am  "  proud,  tho'  poor  !  "  Besides,  I 
should  be  found  out !  "  Mon  verre  n'est  pas  grand, 
mais  je  bois  dans  mon  verre." 

I  know,  I  have  heard,  but  one  verse  of  this  im 
mortal  song.  All  the  rest  were  freshly  made, 
whether  at  dinner,  evening  party,  or  moonlight  sere 
nade,  to  suit  the  company  and  the  occasion.  The 
chorus,  as  rendered  by  Carnegie  the  genteel,  was :  — 

"  Veeverler,  Veeverler,  ve verier  vee 
Veverler  Company ee." 

But  my  friend  twenty  years  before  respected  it 
enough  to  be  accurate  :  — 

"  Vive  !  Vive  !  Vive  P  amour 
Vive  la  compagnie  ! ' ' 

Only  he,  like  les  autres^  sometimes  dropped  his 
"  r's."  They  were  all  nice  in  their  pronunciation. 
They  gave  to  the  broad  "  a  "  its  fullest  due. 

"E'en  the  slight  hahbell  raised  its  head 
Elahstic  from  her  ahry  tread  ! ' ' 

exclaimed  George  Gordon,  as  one  of  the  maidens 
tripped  across  the  lawn.  But  even  he  was  some 
times  indifferent  to  the  rights,  as  a  terminal,  of  the 
letter  "  r  "  ;  for  only  as  a  terminal  does  the  Southern 


82  My  Day 

tongue  utterly  scorn  it.  When  but  a  lisping  infant, 
a  possible  orator  was  drilled  in  the  test  words  :  — 

"Around  the  rugged  rocks 
The  ragged  rascal  ran," 

and  taught  to  roll  the  elusive  consonant  to  the  ut 
most  limit. 

But  I  must  linger  no  longer  in  this  enchanted 
valley  among  the  mountains.  A  long  road  lies  be 
fore  me.  I  must  pass  swiftly  on.  With  just  such 
trifling  events  I  might  fill  my  book.  Dear  to  every 
heart  are  the  annals  of  its  youth ;  before  we  enter 
the  vast  world  of — 

"  Effort,  and  expectation  and  desire  — 
And  something  evermore  about  to  be." 

We  cherish  the  sweet  nothings  of  a  happy  time  as 
we  preserve  dried  rose-leaves.  Mayhap  through 
their  faint  fragrance  we  may  dream  the  rose  ! 

It  was  a  busy  time  as  well  as  a  happy  time.  I 
was  helping  Mrs.  William  C.  Rives  build  a  church  ; 
I  was  hemstitching  all  the  ruffles  for  Thomasia 
Woodson's  trousseau ;  I  was  playing  waltzes,  ad 
infinitum,  at  the  house-parties  in  Charlotte  —  the 
Henrys  and  Carringtons  —  and  singing  campaign 
songs,  to  the  great  delight  of  my  dear  grandfather, 
in  honor  of  my  old  friend,  Henry  Clay,  whom  we 
were  once  more  trying  to  make  our  President :  — - 

"  Get  out  o'  the  way,  you're  all  unlucky ; 
Clear  the  track  for  old  Kentucky  ! ' ' 

(And  just  here  I  wish  to  record  the  fact  that  only 
once  in  all  my  life  did  my  old  grandfather  ever  re- 


My  Day  83 

prove  me.  I  had  committed  a  flagrant  act  of  lese 
majestie.  I  had  put  a  nightcap  on  the  bust  of 
Patrick  Henry !) 

But  my  dear  aunt's  invitations,  written  on  paper 
embossed  with  an  orange-blossom  and  tied  with 
white  satin  ribbon,  were  now  issued  for  my  wedding. 

I  had  begun  my  acquaintance  with  the  young 
man  known  now  as  "  the  General,"  or  "  the  Judge," 
by  beseeching  God  to  take  care  of  him.  According 
to  my  Presbyterian  training,  I  was  taught  that  every 
prayer  must  be  followed  by  efforts  for  its  fulfilment. 
It  was  clearly  my  duty  "to  take  care  of  him."  He 
needed  it. 


CHAPTER   XI 

TWO  years  after  our  marriage,  my  husband 
was  seriously  ill  from  an  affection  of  the  throat, 
and  consulted  Dr.  Green,  an  eminent  specialist 
of  Philadelphia.  He  was  ordered  to  a  warmer  cli 
mate,  and  forbidden  to  speak  in  or  out  of  court. 
The  tiny  law  office  at  a  corner  of  the  court  green  in 
Charlottesville  was  abandoned,  and  we  hastened  to 
Petersburg,  near  his  birthplace.  As  it  was  ab 
solutely  impossible  for  him  to  exist  without  occupa 
tion,  he  purchased  a  newspaper,  sallied  forth  one 
morning  to  solicit  subscribers  for  "  The  South  Side 
Democrat"  and  before  a  week's  end  was  justified  in 
beginning  its  issue. 

This  step  determined  his  career  in  life.  He  did 
not  practise  law  until  he  came  to  New  York  in  1865. 
At  the  age  of  twenty-two  he  became  an  enthusi 
astic  editor.  The  little  South  Side  Democrat  soon 
evinced  pluck  and  spirit.  Its  youthful  editor  sailed 
his  small  craft  right  into  the  troubled  sea  of  politics, 
local  and  national,  to  sink  or  swim  according  to  its 
merits  and  the  wisdom  of  its  pilot.  It  was  loved  of 
the  gods,  with  the  inevitable  result,  —  but  not  until 
he  left  it. 

I  remember  our  first  meeting  with  Stephen  A. 
Douglas,  so  soon  to  become  a  conspicuous  figure  in 
our  political  history.  He  had  just  returned  from 
Europe,  and  was  passing  through  Petersburg  with 

84 


STEPHEN  A.  DOUGLAS. 


My  Day  85 

his  first  wife  (Miss  Martin  of  North  Carolina),  and 
of  course  glad  to  talk  with  the  editor  of  a  Democratic 
paper,  aspiring  as  he  did  to  the  highest  office  in 
the  country.  He  was  thirty-nine  years  old,  and 
below  the  average  height.  But  the  word  insignificant 
could  never  have  been  applied  to  him.  There  was 
something  in  his  air,  his  carriage,  that  forbade  it. 
His  massive  head,  his  resolute  face,  more  than  com 
pensated  for  his  short  stature. 

He  has  always  been  accused  of  rude,  unconven 
tional  manners.  He  was  enough  of  a  courtier  to 
inform  me  that  I  resembled  the  Empress  Eugenie. 

To  us  he  took  the  trouble  to  be  charming,  talked 
of  his  European  experience  —  of  everything,  in  fact, 
except  the  perilous  stuff  burning  in  his  own  bosom, 
his  hunger  for  the  presidency.  Like  my  editor,  he 
had  been  admitted  to  the  bar  before  he  had  reached 
his  majority.  The  parallel  was  to  appear  again 
later.  Mr.  Douglas  also  had  been  a  representative 
in  Congress  at  thirty. 

My  husband  was  a  delegate  to  the  Democratic 
Convention  that  nominated  Franklin  Pierce  in  1852, 
and  Mr.  Douglas  suffered  himself  to  be  a  candidate. 

The  "  Little  Giant "  received  at  first  only  20 
votes,  but  he  steadily  increased  until  Virginia  cast 
her  15  votes  for  Mr.  Pierce,  after  which  there  was 
"  a  stampede "  which  decided  the  matter.  Some 
writer  reminded  Douglas  that  vaulting  ambition 
overleaps  itself,  but  added  dryly,  "  Perhaps  the  little 
Judge  never  read  Shakespeare  and  does  not  think  of 
this." 

An  interesting  event  in  Petersburg  was  a  brief 


86  My  Day 

visit  from  Louis  Kossuth  en  route  to  the  Southern 
and  Western  cities,  his  avowed  purpose  being  "  to 
invoke  the  aid  of  the  great  American  republic  to 
protect  his  people ;  peaceably,  if  they  may,  by  the 
moral  influence  of  their  declarations  ;  but  forcibly,  if 
they  must,  by  the  physical  power  of  their  arm  —  to 
prevent  any  foreign  interference  in  the  struggle  to  be 
renewed  for  the  liberties  of  Hungary." 

Our  Congress,  it  will  be  remembered,1  had,  after 
Kossuth's  defeat  and  his  detention  in  Turkey  — 
whither  he  had  fled  for  refuge  —  directed  the  Presi 
dent  to  offer  one  of  the  ships  of  our  Mediterranean 
squadron  to  bring  him  and  his  suite  to  our  country. 
The  Turkish  government  had  no  especial  use  for  Gov 
ernor  Kossuth  as  a  guest  or  as  a  captive,  and  accord 
ingly  he  landed  from  the  steamer  Vanderbilt  which 
had  been  sent  with  a  committee  to  meet  him,  at 
New  York  quarantine,  December  5,  1851,  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Early  as  was  the  hour,  a 
great  crowd  collected  on  shore  to  greet  him.  A 
salute  of  twenty-one  guns  and  an  address  of  welcome 
from  the  health-officer  at  once  assured  him  that  he 
came  to  us,  not  to  be  pitied  as  a  defeated  refugee, 
but  to  receive  all  honor  due  a  conquering  hero. 
As  his  boat  steamed  by,  Governor's  Island  gave  him 
a  salute  of  thirty-one  guns,  New  Jersey  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty,  and  New  York,  —  but  we  know  how 
New  York  can  behave  !  Steamers,  great  and  small, 
whistled,  pistols  and  guns  were  fired,  Hungarian 
cheers  were  shouted,  and  our  Stars  and  Stripes  took 
into  close  embrace  the  Hungarian  flag.  We  know 

1  Rhodes' s  "  History  of  the  United  States,"  Vol.  I.,  pp.  231  et  sej. 


My  Day  87 

New  York  hospitality,  and  her  enthusiasm,  nay,  crazy 
excitement  when  something,  anything,  novel  and  in 
teresting  happens. 

When  Kossuth  reached  Castle  Garden,  the  un 
happy  mayor  essayed  in  vain  to  read  his  speech. 
Speech,  indeed  !  A  hundred  thousand  throats  were 
aching  with  a  speech,  and  they  delivered  it  with  a 
roar  1 

"  There  was/'  says  a  reporter,  "  a  continuous  roar 
of  cheers  like  waves  on  the  shore."  Every  house 
was  decorated  ;  and  as  the  hero  passed,  mounted  on 
Black  Warrior,  a  horse  which  had  borne  conquerors 
in  many  Florida  and  Mexican  wars,  the  street  was 
jammed  with  enthusiastic  people,  and  the  windows 
alive  with  women  and  children.  Never,  since  the 
landing  of  Lafayette,  had  New  York  so  abandoned 
herself  to  enthusiasm.  The  story  is  too  long  —  of 
the  speeches,  processions,  dinners,  receptions,  fire 
works,  etc.  —  to  be  repeated  fully  in  these  pages. 

Of  course,  the  little  South  Side  Democrat  threw 
up  its  cap  with  the  rest.  Kossuth,  when  he  reached 
the  town,  had  already  received  honors  of  which  his 
wildest  fancy  never  dreamed,  and  we  did  our  best  to 
echo  them  according  to  our  ability.  There  were 
several  ladies  in  his  suite  to  whom  I  paid  my  respects 
(I  am  not  sure  his  wife  was  among  them),  and  the 
only  impression  they  made  upon  me  was  one  of  ex 
treme  weariness.  They  spoke  English  fairly  well, 
but  were  too  utterly  worn  out  to  exhibit  the  least 
animation.  Kossuth  spoke  English  perfectly.  He 
had  a  long  talk  with  my  young  editor,  to  whom  he 
gave  a  huge  cigar,  which  was  never  reduced  to  ashes! 


88  My  Day 

But  after  he  left,  the  South  Side  Democrat  came  to 
its  senses  (having  never  utterly  lost  them),  and  ex 
pressed  a  decided  opinion  in  favor  of  the  non-inter 
vention  of  this  country  in  the  affairs  of  Hungary, 
giving  good  reasons  therefor.  Kossuth,  when  the 
paper  was  handed  him,  read  the  editorial  carefully, 
and  exclaimed,  "  So  young,  and  yet  so  depraved !  " 
adding,  with  his  usual  tact,  "  I  mean,  of  course, 
politically  !  " 

But  even  at  this  highest  pinnacle  of  glory  in  New 
York,  when  an  editorial  banquet  was  given  him  at 
The  Astor  by  George  Bancroft,  William  Cullen 
Bryant,  Henry  J.  Raymond,  Parke  Godwin,  Henry 
Ward  Beecher,  Charles  A.  Dana,  and  others,  Mr. 
Webster  had  coldly  declined  attendance. 

His  letter  was  received  with  hisses  and  groans. 
"  Kossuth,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  in  a  private  letter 
from  Washington,  "is  a  gentleman  in  appearance 
and  demeanor,  is  handsome  enough  in  person, 
evidently  intellectual  and  dignified,  amiable  and  grace 
ful  in  his  manners.  I  shall  treat  him  with  all  per 
sonal  and  individual  respect ;  but  if  he  should  speak 
to  me  of  the  policy  of  ( intervention/  I  shall  have 
ears  more  deaf  than  adders'." 

The  Senate,  the  President,  Congress,  all  received 
him  cordially.  He  dined  at  the  White  House  ;  was 
treated  with  the  utmost  distinction,  and  a  seat  of 
honor  assigned  him  on  the  floor  of  the  Senate ;  but 
before  he  left  Washington,  every  one  except  himself 
knew  that  his  mission  had  failed.  He  soon  discov 
ered  it,  and  appealed  no  longer  for  intervention  but 
for  money.  He  complained  bitterly  at  Pittsburg 


My  Day  89 

that  he  had  received  little  but  costly  banquets  and 
foolish  parades.  The  net  amount  of  the  contribu 
tions  to  his  cause  was  less  than  $100,000,  and  accord 
ing  to  his  statement  at  Pittsburg,  only  $30,000 
remained  for  the  purchase  of  muskets.  We  had 
expressed  with  enthusiasm  our  appreciation  of  his  pa 
triotism,  courage,  and  devotion.  We  had  enter 
tained  him  en  prince.  We  had  added  a  substantial 
gift.  It  was  not  enough. 

The  citizens  of  New  York  very  soon  calmed  down, 
and  by  the  middle  of  January  the  name  of  Kossuth 
was  rarely  mentioned.  When  Congress  came  to 
audit  his  hotel  bill,  it  fairly  gasped !  The  retainers 
of  the  poor  refugee  had  not  been  poor  livers.  They 
had  occupied  luxurious  apartments,  and  proved  be 
yond  a  shadow  of  doubt  the  Hungarian  appreciation 
of  old  Madeira  and  champagne.  No  one,  however, 
could  accuse  the  hero  himself  of  excess.  Still,  all  at 
once,  he  seemed  less  of  a  hero. 

One  unprejudiced  looker-on  in  Vienna,  Ampere, 
wrote  of  Kossuth  at  the  editorial  dinner,  "He  has 
the  bad  taste  to  love  fanciful  dress,  wore  a  levite  of 
black  velvet,  and  seemed  to  me  much  less  imposing 
than  when  he  harangued,  leaning  upon  his  sword,  in 
the  hall  at  Castle  Garden."  Ampere  also  philoso 
phizes  upon  our  American  enthusiasm,  —  "the  only 
lively  amusement  of  the  multitude  in  a  country  where 
one  has  little  to  amuse  one.  It  is  without  conse 
quence  and  without  danger,  simply  to  let  out  the 
steam  (  a  lacker  la  vapeur),  not  to  cause  explosions 
but  to  prevent  them." 

"  The  American  likes  excitement,"  says  Bryce  in 


go  My  Day 

"  The  American  Commonwealth,"  "  but  he  is  shrewd 
and  keen  ;  his  passion  seldom  obscures  his  reason  ;  he 
keeps  his  head  when  a  Frenchman,  or  an  Italian,  or 
even  a  German,  would  lose  it.  Yet  he  is  also  of 
an  excitable  temper,  with  emotions  capable  of  being 
quickly  and  strongly  stirred.  He  likes  excitement 
for  its  own  sake,  and  goes  wherever  he  can  find  it." 

The  Kossuth  episode  vividly  illustrated  this ! 
Sic  transit  gloria  —  be  it  prince  or  patriot ! 

My  young  editor  had  soon  to  leave  the  South  Side 
Democrat  under  the  care  of  a  foster-father.  He  was 
summoned  to  Washington  —  lured  less  by  a  fine 
salary  than  the  larger  field  —  to  edit  with  John  W. 
Forney  the  Washington  Union,  then  the  national 
Democratic  organ.  It  was  desired  that  one  of  the 
two  editors  should  be  from  the  South.  Mr.  Forney 
represented  the  North. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WE  had  the  good  fortune  to  secure  pleasant 
rooms  in  the  large  boarding-house  of  Mrs. 
Tully  Wise,  sister  of  Henry  A.  Wise  of 
Virginia.  Mrs.  Wise  had  a  number  of  agreeable 
people  in  her  house:  Professor  and  Mrs.  Spenser 
Baird  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution ;  Professor 
Baird's  assistants,  —  Mr.  Turner,  an  Englishman,  and 
a  Swiss  naturalist  whom  Professor  Baird  addressed 
as  "  George,"  —  Mr.  James  Heth,  Commissioner  of 
Pensions,  and  his  family;  Commodore  Pennock  and 
his  wife,  sister  of  Mrs.  (Admiral)  Farragut,  and 
others.  I  must  not  forget  Miss  Dick,  whose  rooms 
were  above  mine,  and  who  hovered  around  like  the 
plump,  busy  little  bird  that  she  was.  A  long  table  in 
the  dining-room  was  filled  with"  new"  people  —  de 
sirable  possibly ,  but  not  known  by  us.  There  were  the 
nouveau  riche  party  from  New  York,  the  tall,  angular, 
large-limbed,  fassee  young  woman  and  her  fat  mamma ; 
there  were  the  well-groomed  government  clerk  and 
his  stylish  young  wife  ;  a  French  count,  a  German 
baron ;  a  physician  (Dr.  McNalty),  and  a  beautiful 
dark-eyed  young  lady  who  always  wore  a  camellia 
in  her  dusky  hair,  Miss — well,  let  her  be  "Miss 
Vernon,"  with  her  father.  Lesser  lights  plenty - 
a  large  number  in  all. 

Then  Mrs.  Wise  herself  gathered  pleasant  men 
and  women  around  her.     In  her  little  parlor  we  met 

91 


92  My  Day 

Dr.  Yelverton  Garnett,  our  devoted  friend  in  all  his 
after  life —  Mrs.  Garnett,  daughter  of  Henry  A.  Wise, 
and  a  charming  young  sister,  Annie  Wise.  Our 
hostess  was  a  widow,  well  born  and  good,  who  was 
educating,  alone  and  unaided,  five  splendid  boys,  who 
lived  to  reward  her  by  their  own  worth  and  success. 

We  were  made  thoroughly  comfortable,  and  I  soon 
learned  that  the  "man  behind  the  gun,"  to  whom  it 
behooved  me  to  be  civil,  was  the  head  waiter,  Patrick, 
tall,  black,  stern,  and  unyielding.  No  use  in  trying 
blandishments  on  Patrick !  If  one  were  starved, 
having  overstayed  appointed  hours,  she  must  fast 
until  the  next  meal  or  find  refreshment  elsewhere. 
I  once  complained  to  Mrs.  Wise, — that  I  lost  the 
sweetest  hour  in  the  late  afternoon  for  my  stroll  on 
Pennsylvania  Avenue ;  and  represented  the  perfect 
ease  with  which  Patrick  could  keep  my  tea  for  me. 
She  listened  with  sympathy  to  the  oft-told  tale. 

"  Well,  you  know,  my  dear,"  she  said  kindly, 
"  Patrick  —  now  you  know  Patrick  is  so  good ! 
There's  nobody  like  Patrick  !  He  has  some  trouble, 
with  all  those  strangers  to  serve.  I  know  you  would 
like  to  help  Patrick  !  Yes,  to  be  sure,  it  would  seem 
to  be  a  simple  thing  to  set  aside  a  biscuit  and  bit  of 
cold  tongue  for  you,  and  keep  the  kettle  hot  on  the 
hearth,  —  but  you  see  Patrick,  —  well,  he  is  so  good, 
you'll  not  have  the  heart  to  trouble  him  !  And  dear  ! 
I  think  you  will  yourself  choose  to  be  indoors  early 
here  in  Washington." 

The  one  who  was  "dear"  was  Mrs.  Wise  —  the 
noblest  and  best  of  women. 

Very  soon  I  found  that  with  all  these  pieces  upon 


My  Day  93 

the  board,  a  lively  game  might  be  expected.  Miss 
Dick,  whose  brother  was  employed  by  the  govern 
ment,  soon  enlightened  me :  the  rich  New  York 
girl  wanted  a  title.  She  was  "  trying  to  catch  "  the 
baron,  and  would  succeed,  "  as  nobody  else  wanted 
either  of  them/'  Miss  Vernon  was  dying  for  love 
of  Dr.  McNalty.  She  was  going  into  a  decline. 
Probably  the  doctor  was  ignorant  of  the  state  of 
things.  Such  a  beautiful  girl  —  a  perfect  lady ! 
Somebody  ought  to  speak  to  the  doctor.  She, 
(Miss  Dick)  couldn't.  Nobody  would  listen  to  an 
old  maid  —  "perhaps  you,  Mrs.  Pryor  "  —  ("Oh, 
mercy,  no") — well,  then,  poor  girl!  The  French 
count  was  flirting  with  the  wife  of  the  government 
clerk.  Her  husband  would  find  her  out,  never  fear  ! 
There  was  danger  of  a  hostile  meeting  before  the 
winter  was  over.  Then  that  hateful  old  Dr.  Todkin, 
with  his  straw-colored  wig !  To  be  sure,  she  and 
some  others  liked  the  parlors  kept  dark  —  but  what 
business  had  he  to  say  he  hoped  some  lady  would 
come  who  "  liked  the  light  and  could  bear  the  light !  " 
Such  Dutch  impertinence! 

I  received  these  confidences  of  Miss  Dick  in  my 
own  rooms,  for  I  soon  learned,  with  Mrs.  Baird  and 
Mrs.  Heth,  that  the  public  drawing-room  was  no 
place  for  me. 

"  Gossip ! "  said  they.  "  It  has  gone  beyond  gossip ! 
The  air  is  thick  with  something  worse.  You  might 
cut  it  with  a  knife." 

But  it  was  not  long  before  we  had  a  ripple  in  our 
own  calm  waters.  On  one  side  of  me  at  our  round 
table  sat  Mr.  George,  the  eccentric,  small,  intense 


94  My  Day 

Swiss  naturalist,  who  amused  me  much  by  affecting 
to  be  a  woman-hater. 

"  Not  that  they  concern  me,"  he  said,  "  but, — 
well,  I  find  fishes  more  interesting.  I  understand 
them  better." 

Beside  my  husband  was  placed  our  special  pet, 
Maria  Heth,  taken  under  our  wing  in  the  absence 
of  her  parents,  neither  of  whom  ever  appeared. 
The  circle  was  completed  by  Professor  and  Mrs. 
Baird,  little  Lucy  Baird,  and  Mr.  Turner.  In  course 
of  time  my  right-hand  man  fell  into  silence,  broken 
by  long-drawn  sighs.  I  supposed  he  had  lost  a 
"specimen,"  or  failed  to  find  enough  bones  in  some 
fish  he  was  to  classify,  or  maybe  heard  bad  news 
from  home,  or  belike  had  a  toothache  ;  so,  after  a 
few  essays  on  my  part  to  encourage  him,  I  let  him 
alone.  Presently  his  place  at  the  board  was  vacant. 
Things  went  on  in  this  way  until  one  morning,  early, 
Maria  Heth  knocked  at  my  door. 

"  I  am  troubled  about  Mr.  George,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  sorry  to  worry  you,  but  I'm  afraid  there's  no 
help  for  it.  Mamma  is  too  nervous  to  hear  unpleas 
ant  things,  and  I'm  afraid  of  exciting  papa." 

"  Come  to  the  point,  Maria !  Mr.  George,  you 
say  !  Well,  then,  what  about  Mr.  George?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  he's  been  missing  nearly  a 
week.  It  was  no  business  of  mine.  I  had  no  dream 
/  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  But  see  what  he  has 
written  me !  £  This  comes  to  you  from  a  broken 
hearted  man.  Forget  him!  You  will  meet  him 
no  more  on  earth.  Perhaps — yonder!  George." 

Questioning  Maria  further,  she  confessed  that  on 


My  Day  95 

the  day  Mr.  George  disappeared,  she  received  from 
him  a  passionate  love-letter.  She  had  answered  him 
curtly.  Yes,  —  she  certainly  had  told  him  what  she 
thought  of  his  impertinence.  "  Of  course,  I  am  dis 
tressed,  but  what  could  I  do,"  said  the  poor  child. 
"  You  know  my  brother !  Richard  would  have  been 
enraged.  I  had  to  settle  him  once  for  all  to  save 
trouble." 

I  went  immediately  to  Mrs.  Baird  with  my  infor 
mation.  She,  too,  had  become  anxious  at  the  sudden 
disappearance  of  the  young  naturalist.  He  had  not 
been  seen  at  the  Institution,  and  investigation  re 
vealed  the  fact  that  he  had  not  occupied  his  rooms. 
Professor  Baird  was  deeply  concerned,  and  a  vigor 
ous  search  was  made  for  the  missing  man. 

Upon  returning  from  my  walk  that  evening,  I 
found  a  note  on  my  table  from  Mrs.  Baird.  The 
runaway  had  been  found.  It  would  be  unnecessary 
to  drag  the  river  or  notify  the  police.  He  was  dis 
covered  in  the  upper  chamber  of  an  humble  lodging- 
house,  very  limp  and  penitent,  but  "clothed  and  in 
his  right  mind."  He  had  not  been  drinking,  he  had 
not  been  in  the  river.  I  never  knew  what  Professor 
Baird  did  to  him  —  pulled  him  out  of  bed,  very 
likely,  and  shook  him  into  his  senses.  So  we  lost 
Mr.  George  (whose  surname  I  dare  not  reveal), 
and  he  was  doubtless  mightily  strengthened  in  his 
opinion  of  women  —  not  to  be  understood  by  him 
and  not,  by  any  means,  comparable  to  fishes. 

Perhaps  I  should  not  leave  the  dramatis  persons 
of  our  boarding-house  "  in  the  air."  Before  I  left 
Mrs.  Wise,  the  baron  was  safely  moored  into  har- 


96  My  Day 

bor  by  the  tall  young  lady  from  New  York.  The 
government  clerk  had  openly  insulted  the  French 
count,  and  it  was  supposed  a  challenge  had  passed 
between  them.  Evidently  nothing  had  come  of  it. 
If  they  fought,  it  was  a  bloodless  battle.  The 
exquisite  Miss  Vernon  had  reappeared,  thinner, 
paler,  but  radiant  and  beautiful  exceedingly.  Miss 
Dick  was  puzzled.  Perhaps  the  girl  had  "  gotten 
over  it,"  like  a  sensible  woman.  Perhaps  she  had 
not  been  ill  at  all  —  only  hysterical.  It  was  not 
impossible  she  might  have  feigned  illness  "  to  bring 
him  around."  These  were  some  of  the  solutions 
of  the  problem  that  occurred  to  Miss  Dick. 

I  could  have  enlightened  her.  One  evening,  Dr. 
McNalty,  whom  I  knew  but  slightly,  spoke  to  me 
in  the  hall.  He  had  a  soft  white  parcel  in  his  hand 
and  seemed  embarrassed  and  agitated.  He  begged 
me  to  do  him  a  great  kindness  — would  I  see  Miss 
Vernon  —  not  send  a  messenger,  see  her  myself  and 
give  her  some  camellias  from  him.  Possibly  there 
might  be  some  message  from  her.  He  would 
await  my  return. 

Would  I  ?  I  flew  on  the  wings  of  hope  and 
keen  interest.  I  comprehended  the  situation.  Of 
course  there  had  been  a  misunderstanding.  Pos 
sibly  his  letters  had  been  returned  and  unopened. 
Only  a  desperate  necessity  could  have  nerved  him 
to  appeal  to  me  —  almost  a  stranger.  I  rose  to  the 
occasion,  and  when  I  was  admitted  to  Miss  Vernon's 
room,  I  was  prepared  to  be  an  eloquent  advocate, 
should  circumstances  encourage  and  justify  me. 

When  I  returned  to  Dr.  McNalty,  I  bore  a  mes- 


My  Day  97 

sage.  She  had  laid  the  camellias  against  her  lovely 
cheek  and  said,  "  Tell  him  his  flowers  are  whisper 
ing  to  me." 

I  hope  my  reader  will  appreciate  my  reticence  in 
ending  this  little  story  just  here.  If,  as  Talley 
rand  declared,  "  a  man  who  suppresses  a  bon  mot 
deserves  canonization,"  is  there  no  nimbus  for  the 
woman  who,  for  truth's  sake,  suppresses  the  denoue 
ment  of  a  love  story  ?  The  temptation  is  great  to 
amplify  a  little,  embroider  a  little  —  but  then  I 
should  have  to  reckon  with  my  conscience,  with  the 
certainty  of  being  worsted. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  know  only  this  of  the  young 
woman  I  am  constrained  to  call  Miss  Vernon.  Her 
true  name  was  one  well  and  honorably  known  in 
history.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  of  all  dark- 
eyed  women  I  have  ever  known  —  of  course  the 
blue-eyed  angels  are  exceptional  — and  her  manners 
and  attire  were  as  elegant  as  her  person.  She  wore 
rich  velvet,  then  much  in  vogue,  and  only  one 
jewel :  — 

' '  On  her  fair  breast  a  sparkling  cross  she  wore 
Which  Jews  might  kiss  and  infidels  adore." 

I  never  knew  the  end  of  the  romance  in  which  I 
bore  a  small  part.  I  never  even  knew  of  what 
whisperings  camellias  are  capable.  Had  they  been 
violets  —  or  roses,  or  lilies  of  the  valley  —  but  big 
white  camellias  !  I  only  know  she  recovered  and 
that  Dr.  McNalty  thanked  me  warmly  for  my 
small  service.  That  is  all. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

MR.  FILLMORE  was  a  fine  type  of  the 
kind  of  man  Americans  love  to  raise  to  the 
highest  office  in  their  gift.  He  had  not 
been  a  mill  boy,  nor  lived  in  a  log-cabin,  nor  split 
rails  (which  was  to  his  discredit),  but  he  had  been  an 
apprentice  to  a  wool-carder  in  Livingston  County, 
New  York.  Afterward  he  had  worked  in  a  law 
yer's  office  all  day  and  studied  at  night.  He  had 
had  no  patron.  He  was  essentially  a  self-made 
man.  When,  by  the  death  of  President  Taylor,  he 
became  President  of  the  United  States,  he  fitted 
into  the  place  as  if  he  had  made  himself  expressly 
for  it. 

According  to  Ampere,  who  observed  us  so  nar 
rowly  in  1852,  "  M.  Fillmore  avait  un  cachet  de 
simplicite  digne  et  bienveillante,  qui  me  semble 
faire  de  lui  le  type  de  ce  que  doit  etre  un  president 
Americain." 

But  nobody  said  any  of  those  fine  things  about 
dear  Mrs.  Fillmore.  The  cachet  de  simplicite  she 
certainly  possessed,  but  she  wore  it  with  a  difference. 
In  a  President  it  was  admirable,  in  a  beautiful 
woman  it  would  have  been  adorable.  It  stamped 
plain,  unhandsome,  ungraceful  Mrs.  Fillmore  as 
ordinary,  commonplace.  She  was  the  soul  of  kind 
ness.  "  She  has  no  manner,"  said  a  woman  of 
fashion.  "She  is  absolutely  simple.  It  is  not  good 

98 


My  Day  99 

form  to  be  so  motherly  to  her  guests.  Why,  what 
do  you  think  she  said  to  me  at  the  last  levee  ? 
c  You  look  pale  and  ill,  my  dear  !  Pray  find  a  seat/ 
Think  of  that !  Haven't  I  a  right  to  look  pale  and 
ill,  I  wonder  !  " 

"  She  meant  to  be  kind,"  I  ventured.  "  Should 
she  have  permitted  you  to  faint  on  the  floor  ? " 

"  Kind,  indeed  !  It  was  her  duty,  if  she  thought 
me  c  gone  off  in  my  looks/  to  tell  me  how  well  I 
was  looking !  I  should  have  been  all  right  after 
that.  As  it  was,  I  came  straight  home  and  went  to 
bed." 

I  fairly  revelled  in  the  music  I  could  now  hear. 
From  a  famous  musician,  Mr.  Palmer,  I  took  les 
sons  again.  He  was  a  notable  character  —  a  splendid 
musician,  and  a  welcome  guest  at  Mr.  Corcoran's 
and  other  houses,  where  he  amused  the  company 
with  tricks  of  legerdemain.  He  afterward  became 
the  celebrated  "  Heller,"  the  prince  of  legerdemain 
and  clairvoyance.  The  elder  Booth,  Hackett,  and 
Anna  Cora  Mowatt  introduced  me  to  the  fascina 
tions  of  the  stage.  Nothing  to  my  mind  had  ever 
been,  could  ever  be,  finer  than  their  Hamlet,  Fal- 
staff,  and  Parthenia.  The  Armstrongs  gave  me 
carte  blanche  to  their  box  at  the  theatre,  and  I  saw 
everything.  I  wonder  if  any  one  at  the  present  day 
remembers  the  Ravel  brothers  and  their  matchless 
pantomimes !  Mrs.  Baird  made  a  party,  taking 
little  Lucy  to  see  "  Jocko."  Not  a  word  was 
spoken  in  the  play ;  not  an  eye  was  dry  in  the 
house. 

One  evening  an  agreeable  Frenchman  whom  we 


TOO  My  Day 

knew  joined  us  in  our  box,  and  seeking  an  oppor 
tunity,  whispered  to  me,  "  Madame,  will  you  grant 
me  a  favor  ?  There  — in  the  parquette,  second  from 
the  front,  voyes-vous?  A  lady  en  chateau  bleu?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see  !     Who  is' she  ?  " 

"  Madame "  (tragically),  "  that  demoiselle  with 
the  young  man  is  fiancee  to  my  friend  !  " 

"And  you  are  perhaps  jealous  !" 

"  Ah,  mais  non>  Madame !  I  have  this  moment 
said  to  my  friend,  c Regardez  votre  fiancee'  He 
has  responded,  c  C'esf  vrai !  It  is  custom  of  this 
country/ ' 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

cc  Oh !  "  shrugging  his  shoulders  in  scorn  not  to 
be  expressed  in  words,  "  I  say,  (  Eh  bien>  Emil.  If 
you  satisfy,  /  very  well  satisfy  ! '  But,  pardon, 
Madame,  is  it  convenable  in  this  country  for  demoi 
selle  to  appear  at  theatre  with  young  gentleman 
without  chaperon  ? " 

I  found  refuge  in  ignorance :  "  I  am  sure  I  can 
not  say.  You  see  I  am  from  Virginia.  I  haven't 
been  long  in  Washington,  and  customs  here  may 
differ  from  manners  in  my  home." 

I  was  a  proud  woman  when  Mr.  Pierce  sent  for 
my  young  editor  to  read  with  him  his  inaugural 
address.  These  were  mighty  political  secrets,  not  to 
be  shared  with  Miss  Dick,  and  thus  published  to  her 
little  boarding-house  world.  I  felt  that  I  belonged, 
not  to  that  nor  to  any  other  small  world.  I  belonged 
to  the  nation ;  and  strange  to  say,  that  impression 
(or  must  I  say  delusion  ?)  never  left  me  in  my  darkest, 
most  obscure  days. 


My  Day  101 

Mr.  Pierce  liked  my  young  editor.  We  adored 
him  !  Only  since  we  lost  him  have  we  learned  of  his 
many  mistakes,  vacillation,  weakness,  unpopularity ; 
nothing  of  these  appeared  in  1852.  He  had  been  a 
fine  politician,  had  served  his  country  "  with  bravery 
and  credit,"  enlisting  as  a  private  in  the  Mexican  War. 
"  His  integrity  was  above  suspicion,  and  he  was 
deeply  religious."  It  is  quite  certain  he  did  not 
desire  the  nomination.  There  was  nobody  in  his 
family  to  exult  over  his  promotion,  no  son,  no 
daughter  to  blossom  with  new  beauty  because  of  the 
splendid  stem  on  which  she  grew.  Only  a  sick, 
broken-hearted  wife,  too  feeble  to  endure  the  exactions 
of  social  life,  too  sad  to  take  part  in  anything  out 
side  her  own  room.  She  did  not  even  attempt  it. 
It  was  at  once  understood  that  our  republican  court 
was  such  only  in  name.  In  name  only  did  Mrs. 
Pierce  appear  in  its  annals.  I  never  saw  her.  I 
never  saw  any  one  who  had  seen  her.  We  thought 
of  her  as  a  Mater  Dolorosa,  shrouded  in  deepest 
mourning,  and  we  gave  her  a  sacred  place  in  our  hearts. 

I  cannot  close  my  records  of  this,  my  earliest  ex 
perience  of  Washington  life,  without  remembering 
with  gratitude  all  I  owe  to  the  friendship  and  wisdom 
of  the  discreet,  cultured  women  who  felt  an  early 
interest  in  me,  guiding  and  instructing  me.  Mrs. 
Spenser  Baird,  Mrs.  Garnett (#<?<?  Wise),  lovely  Annie 
Wise,  and  Maria  Heth,  these  were  my  intimate  friends. 
Mrs.  Garnett,  a  lovely  Christian  woman,  watched  me 
closely  and  restrained  me  in  my  natural  desire  for 
beautiful  raiment.  I  once  confessed  to  her,  almost 
with  tears,  that  Leonide  Delarue  had  beguiled  me 


102  My  Day 

into  giving  forty  dollars  for  a  bonnet,  whereupon  she 
produced  pencil  and  paper  and  proved  that  the  material 
(exclusive  of  a  bit  of  superfluous  point-lace)  could  be 
obtained  for  ten  dollars.  The  young  English  queen, 
it  was  said,  could  make  her  own  bonnets.  But  I  could 
not  succeed  as  a  milliner.  I  had  some  talent,  but  not 
in  that  line.  However,  that  I  might  please  and  sur 
prise  Mrs.  Garnett  and  also  imitate  the  Queen,  when 
the  time  came  for  me  to  indulge  myself  in  a  winter 
bonnet  (we  did  not  call  them  hats  —  they  weren't 
hats  !),  I  essayed  the  "creation"  of  one  with  velvet, 
satin,  and  feathers  galore.  It  was  a  dreadful  failure! 
I  took  it  to  Madame  Delarue's  and  begged  her  to 
tell  me  what  ailed  it. 

"  Mon  Dieu !  "  she  exclaimed,  throwing  up  her 
hands  in  despair,  " pesante" 

I  gave  away  my  "  creation  "  to  somebody  in  my 
service  —  anybody  who  would  condescend  to  accept  it. 
Mrs.  Garnett  felt  I  could  hardly  afford  to  try  again. 
She  knew,  however,  how  important  to  me  as  a  young 
politician's  wife  would  be  the  virtue  of  economy. 
It  is  not  written  in  the  stars  that  an  honest  politician 
can  ever  be  rich.  A  great  evening  reception  was  to 
be  given  by  some  magnate  at  which  my  young  editor 
consented  to  be  present.  He  secretly  visited  Harper's 
fine  store  and  brought  home  a  lovely  "  bertha  "  for 
me  made  of  three  rows  of  point-lace.  I  gasped  !  But 
I  was  prudent.  I  accepted  it  with  apparent  pleasure, 
went  to  Harper's,  found  it  had  been  charged,  and 
effected  its  return.  But  here  was  a  dilemma.  I 
was  to  attend  the  reception.  I  was  to  wear  evening 
dress  and  a  beautiful  "  bertha." 


My  Day  103 

"  Have  you  not  imitation  lace?*'     I  inquired. 

Harper  had,  —  and  the  imitation  was  good,  —  the 
price  of  plenty  of  it  ten  dollars.  I  guiltily  made  the 
exchange,  took  a  searching  look  at  my  model,  and 
perfectly  copied  it. 

That  evening,  brave  in  my  counterfeit  presentment 
I  stood  under  a  blaze  of  light  with  my  intimates,  Mrs. 
Clay,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  and  others  around  me.  My 
editor  approached  and  was  complimented  upon  my 
appearance.  "Ah,  but, "  he  said,  in  the  pride  of  his 
young  heart,  "if  I  can  only  keep  it  up  !  Why,  Mrs. 
Clay,  that  bit  of  lace  cost  me  hundreds  of  dollars  !  " 
I  caught  the  wondering  eyes  of  my  fully  instructed 
friends,  gave  them  an  imploring  glance  — and  when 
the  boastful  young  fellow  departed,  told  them  my 
story.  They  said  I  was  a  very  silly  woman. 

Mr.  Fillmore's  tastes  had  been  sufficiently  ripened 
to  enable  him  to  gather  around  him  men  of  literary 
taste  and  attainment.  John  P.  Kennedy,  a  man  of 
elegant  accomplishments,  was  Secretary  of  the  Navy. 
Washington  Irving  was  often  Mr.  Kennedy's  guest. 
We  knew  these  men,  and  among  them  none  was 
brighter,  wittier,  or  more  genial  than  G.  P.  R.  James, 
the  English  novelist  whose  star  rose  and  set  before 
1860.  He  was  the  most  prolific  of  writers,  "  Like 
an  endless  chain  of  buckets  in  a  well,"  said  one ; 
"as  fast  as  one  is  emptied,  up  comes  another." 

We  were  very  fond  of  Mr.  James.  One  day  he 
dashed  in,  much  excited  :  — 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Intelligencer?  By  George, 
it's  all  true  !  Six  times  has  my  hero,  a  ( solitary 


104  My  Day 

horseman/  emerged  from  a  wood !  My  word ! 
I  was  totally  unconscious  of  it !  Fancy  it !  Six 
times  !  Well,  it's  all  up  with  that  fellow.  He  has 
got  to  dismount  and  enter  on  foot  —  a  beggar,  or 
burglar,  or  pedler,  or  at  best  a  mendicant  friar." 

"  But,"  suggested  one,"  he  might  drive,  mightn't 
he  ? " 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Mr.  James.  "  Imagine  a  hero 
in  a  gig  or  a  curricle !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  one,  "  the  word  c  solitary '  has 
given  offence.  Americans  dislike  exclusiveness. 
They  are  sensitive,  you  see,  and  look  out  for 
snobs." 

He  made  himself  very  merry  over  it ;  but  the  soli 
tary  horseman  appeared  no  more  in  the  few  novels 
he  was  yet  to  write. 

One  day,  after  a  pleasant  visit  from  Mr.  James 
and  his  wife,  I  accompanied  them  at  parting  to  the 
front  door,  and  found  some  difficulty  in  turning  the 
bolt.  He  offered  to  assist,  but  I  said  no  —  he  was 
not  supposed  to  understand  the  mystery  of  an 
American  front  door. 

Having  occasion  a  few  minutes  afterward  to  open 
the  door  for  another  departing  guest,  there  on  his 
knees  outside  was  Mr.  James,  who  laughingly  ex 
plained  that  he  had  left  his  wife  at  the  corner,  and 
had  come  back  to  investigate  that  mystery.  "  Per 
haps  you  will  tell  me,"  he  added,  and  was  much 
amused  to  learn  that  the  American  door  opened  of 
itself  to  an  incoming  guest,  but  positively  refused, 
without  coaxing, to  let  him  out.  "By  George,  that's 
fine ! "  he  said,  "  that'll  please  the  critics  in  my 


My  Day  .      105 

next."  I  never  knew  whether  it  was  admitted,  for 
I  must  confess  that,  even  with  the  stimulus  of  his 
presence,  his  books  were  dreary  reading  to  my  un- 
instructed  taste. 

A  very  lovely  and  charming  actress  was  promi 
nent  in  Washington  society  at  this  time,  —  the 
daughter  of  an  old  New  York  family,  Anna  Cora 
(Ogden)  Mowatt.  She  was  especially  interesting  to 
Virginians,  for  she  had  captivated  Foushee  Ritchie, 
soon  afterward  my  husband's  partner  on  the  editor 
ship  of  the  Richmond  Enquirer.  Mr.  Ritchie,  a  con 
firmed  old  bachelor,  had  been  fascinated  by  Mrs. 
Mowatt's  Parthenia  (in  "Ingomar"  ),  and  was  now 
engaged  to  her.  He  proudly  brought  to  me  a  pair 
of  velvet  slippers  she  had  embroidered  for  him, 
working  around  them  as  a  border  a  quotation  from 
"  Ingomar"  :  — 

"  Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

I  WAS  peacefully  enjoying  a  cup  of  tea  with 
Mrs.  Arnold  Harris,  when  her  father,  old 
General  Armstrong,  entered,  and  brought  me 
the  astounding  news  that  my  husband  had  resigned 
his  position  as  editor  of  the  Washington  Union. 

"  Oh,  that  boy  !  He  thinks  he  knows  more  about 
foreign  politics  than  I  do." 

I  was  very  fond  of  the  General,  who  had  always 
treated  me  in  a  fatherly  and  most  kind  manner. 
But  of  course  I  could  not  hear  my  husband  dis 
cussed,  even  by  him,  so  I  expressed  polite  regrets  and 
hastened  home.  It  was  too  true!  The  junior  part 
ner  had  published  in  the  Union  a  very  strong 
article,  taking  the  part  of  Russia  in  the  Crimean  War, 
and  General  Armstrong  had  wished  him  to  disavow 
it  "upon  further  consideration."  He  had  refused, 
and  declared  he  must  write  according  to  his  con 
victions  or  not  at  all.  The  matter  might  possibly 
have  been  adjusted,  had  not  the  General,  with  more 
zeal  than  discretion,  remonstrated  with  him  upon  the 
ground  that  he  should  "  think  twice  before  giving  up 
a  large  salary." 

There  is  a  very  ugly  word  in  the  English  language 
of  which  I,  as  a  child,  stood  in  mortal  fear.  I  had 
then  never  read  that  word  anywhere  except  in  the 
Bible  or  my  Catechism.  I  had  never  heard  it  ex 
cept  in  the  pulpit.  I  had  an  idea  that  the  devil,  in 

106 


My  Day  107 

whose  personality  I  believed,  but  of  whom  I  had 
never  thought  enough  to  be  afraid,  might  appear  at 
any  moment  in  connection  with  that  inviting  word, 
if  uttered  out  of  church. 

Only  lately  has  it  been  shorn  of  its  terrors  by 
being  left  out  root  and  branch  in  the  revision  of  the 
Bible.  Now,  although  offensive  to  ears  polite,  it  is 
no  longer  supposed  to  imperil  the  safety  of  the  soul. 
Unless  refined  taste  forbids,  it  may  in  seasons  of 
peculiar  vexation  of  spirit  —  a  lacker  la  vapeur  —  be 
applied  to  things  inanimate  :  to  a  "  spot "  that  will 
not  "out,"  to  tiresome  "  iteration,"  to  "  faint  praise," 
or,  on  general  principles,  suitably  preface  the  pro 
noun  "  it,"  but  never  to  living  individuals  !  That 
would  be  uncivil  to  a  degree  —  highly  imprudent, 
and  likely  to  result  unpleasantly.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  of  the  fact  that  it  contains  certain  mysterious 
elements  of  relief  and  comfort,  else  why  its  frequent 
use  by  men  and  not  infrequent  use  by  some  women? 

At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing  it  was  to  me  still 
a  desperate  word  of  evil  source  and  evil  omen.  Even 
now  the  cells  of  my  brain  respond  with  a  shudder 
when  I  hear  it. 

You  can  then  imagine  the  shock  I  sustained  when 
I  learned  my  husband's  reply  to  the  good  old  Gen 
eral's  overture. 

"What  did  you  say?"  I  had  sternly  demanded. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  have  it  —  I  said,  (  damn  the 
money  ! ' 

We  did  not  leave  Washington  immediately.  My 
editor  knew  he  could  make  good  his  position  in  re 
gard  to  Russia  in  her  quarrel  with  England,  and 


io8  My  Day 

Mr.  Gales  offered  him  the  columns  of  the  National 
Intelligencer  for  that  purpose.  He  wrote  a  long 
and  able  defence  of  Russia.  Caleb  Gushing  met 
him  afterward  and  congratulated  him  on  an  article 
which  was,  he  said,  "  unanswered  and  unanswerable." 

He  was  fascinated  with  editorial  life,  immediately 
bought  an  interest  in  the  Richmond  Enquirer,  and 
became  co-editor  with  William  F.  Ritchie.  We 
had  inaugurated  President  Pierce,  whose  friend 
ship  promised  much.  I  had  made  charming  friends 
in  Washington,  —  Mrs.  Gales  and  Mrs.  Seaton, 
Mrs.  Crittenden,  beautiful  Adele  Cutts  (afterward 
Mrs.  Douglas),  Mrs.  "Clem"  Clay,  and  other 
charming  wives  of  the  representatives  in  Congress. 
But  I  was  not  sorry  to  leave  the  city.  My  dear 
Blue  Mountains  were  awaiting  me.  For  years  I 
could  never  return  to  them  without  a  swelling  heart. 
I  was  going  back  for  a  long  visit  to  my  aunt  and  the 
baby  girl  I  had  lent  her  (to  keep  her  own  dear  heart 
from  breaking  when  I  left  her),  and  I  had  a  splendid 
boy  to  show  my  friends  in  Charlottes ville  —  the  old 
people  only  —  for  all  my  confreres  had  married  and 
taken  wing. 

It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Pierce  sent  my  hus 
band  on  a  special  mission  to  Greece.  I  could  not 
accompany  him.  I  could  not  travel  with  my  babies 
—  there  were  now  three  —  nor  could  I  leave  them 
with  my  delicate  aunt.  I  went  with  him  as  far  as 
Washington,  where  we  spent  one  day  and  night.  A 
dinner  had  been  arranged  to  witness  the  unfolding 
of  a  superb  specimen  of  the  Agave  Americana,  sup 
posed  to  be  over  fifty  years  old,  and  which  now,  for 


My  Day  109 

the  first  time  in  the  memory  of  the  present  genera 
tion,  had  suddenly  thrown  up  a  great  stalk  crowned 
with  a  bud  nearly  a  foot  long. 

We  did  not  attend  the  dinner,  but  at  midnight, 
upon  answering  a  knock  at  the  door,  there  stood  a 
man  bearing  in  his  arms  the  splendid  flower.  A 
thick  fringe  of  narrow,  pure  white  petals  formed  a 
rosette,  and  from  the  centre  rose  a  plume  of  golden 
stamens.  I  was  resolved  this  midnight  beauty 
should  not  discover  the  dawn  which  signals  the  closing 
of  its  petals,  so  I  placed  it  in  the  ample  fireplace, 
made  a  framework  of  canes,  parasols,  and  umbrellas 
around  it  and  covered  the  whole  with  a  blanket.  In 
the  morning  I  peeped  in.  It  presented  a  tightly 
twisted  spike,  having  entered  upon  another  long 
sleep  of  fifty  years,  more  or  less.  It  was  this  flower 
that  my  husband,  with  outrageous  American  boast 
ing,  described  to  Queen  Mathilde  of  Greece  as  an 
ordinary  floral  production  of  this  country,  not  to 
be  confounded  with  the  commonplace  night-bloom 
ing  Cereus,  and  fired  an  ambition  in  her  soul  that 
could  hardly  have  been  gratified. 

While  my  husband  was  absent  on  his  mission, 
President  Pierce  spent  one  day  in  Charlottesville  to 
visit  the  tomb  and  home  of  Jefferson,  the  father  of 
his  political  party.  We  were  then  at  my  aunt's 
country  place,  and  the  President  wrote  to  me  regret 
ting  he  could  not  go  out  to  see  me,  and  inviting  me 
to  spend  the  one  evening  of  his  stay  with  him  and 
a  few  friends  at  his  hotel. 

I  had  a  delightful  evening.  He  expressed  the 
warmest  friendship  for  the  young  ambassador  to 


no  My  Day 

Greece,  and  presented  me  with  two  beautiful  books, 
bound  sumptuously  in  green  morocco  and  inscribed 
in  his  own  fine  handwriting,  from  my  "  friend  Frank 
lin  Pierce/'  Those  valued  books  were  taken  from 
me  when  our  house  was  sacked  in  1865.  They 
possibly  exist  somewhere  !  certainly  in  the  grateful 
memory  of  their  first  owner. 

The  President  had  the  courtesy  to  express  pleas 
ure  in  my  piano  playing.  I  made  him  listen  to 
Thalberg's  "  La  Straniera,"  Henselt's "  Gondola," and 
"  L'Elisir  d' Amour  "  ;  and  I  left  him  with  an  impres 
sion  that  has  never  been  lost,  of  his  kindness  of 
heart,  his  captivating  voice  and  manner. 

My  husband's  letters  from  Greece  and  from 
Egypt  were  extremely  interesting,  and  I  preserved 
them  for  publication  in  book  form.  Alas  !  they, 
too,  were  lost  in  1865.  Unable  to  encumber  myself 
when  I  fled  before  the  bullets  in  1865,  I  sent  my 
little  son  back  under  cover  of  night  to  draw  the  box 
containing  them  to  some  safe  place  away  from 
the  buildings  and  burn  them.  Thus  I  lost  all 
records  of  our  active  life  in  Virginia  before  the  eve 
of  surrender,  except  those  preserved  in  the  files  of 
Northern  papers. 

Passage  was  taken  in  the  Pacific  for  my  husband's 
return,  and  I  went  down  to  Petersburg  that  I  might 
be  with  his  family  to  meet  him.  The  Pacific  was 
long  overdue  before  we  would  acknowledge  to  each 
other  that  we  were  anxious,  —  I  can  hear  now,  as 
then,  cries  of  the  newsboys,  "  Here's  the  New 
York  Herald^  and  no  news  of  the  Pacific"  —  repeating 
like  a  knell  of  despair,  as  they  ran  down  the  streets, 


My  Day  in 

"  No  news  of  the  Pacific  !  No  news  of  the  Pacific  I  " 
At  last,  when  the  strain  was  almost  unbearable,  my 
father.  Dr.  Pryor,  ran  home  with  the  paper  in  his 
hand :  "  A  printed  list  of  the  passengers,  my 
dear  !  Roger's  name  is  not  among  them  !  " 

It  had  pleased  God  to  deliver  him.  He  had 
taken  passage  on  the  Pacific  and  sent  his  baggage 
ahead  of  him.  When  he  reached  Marseilles,  he 
found  his  trunks  and  packages  had  been  opened,  — 
a  discourtesy  to  an  ambassador,  —  and  he  remained 
a  few  days  to  obtain  redress,  allowing  the  Pacific  to 
sail  without  him.  That  ill-starred  steamer  never 
reached  home.  The  story  of  her  fate  is  held  where 
so  many  secrets,  so  many  treasures  lie  —  in  the 
bosom  of  the  great  deep. 

I  have  told  elsewhere  something  of  my  husband's 
residence  at  Athens.  It  suffices  to  state  here  that 
he  accomplished  the  object  of  his  mission  to  the 
satisfaction  of  his  government,  and  to  his  own 
pleasure  and  profit.  He  brought  me  many  beauti 
ful  pictures  and  carvings  for  the  home  we  now  made 
in  Richmond,  to  say  nothing  of  corals,  amber, 
mosaics,  curios,  and  antiques,  silks,  laces,  velvets, 
perfumes,  etc.,  to  my  great  content.  Soon  after  his 
return,  the  President  offered  him  the  mission  to 
Persia,  which  he  declined.  We  found  a  pleasant 
house  in  Richmond,  with  ample  grounds  on  either 
side  for  the  flowers  I  adored.  There  we  set  up 
our  Lares  and  Penates —  happy  housekeepers, 
intent  on  hospitality. 

The  great  day  arrived  for  our  first  large  dinner 
party.  Although  only  men  were  present,  they  were 


ii2  My  Day 

friends  and  neighbors,  and  I  presided ;  with  my 
courtly  uncle,  Dr.  Thomas  Atkinson,  at  my  right 
hand.  We  furnished  our  dinners  from  our  own 
kitchens  in  Richmond.  In  every  respect  —  so  my 
uncle  assured  me  —  my  first  venture  was  a  success. 
Soup,  fish,  roast,  game,  and  salad  with  the  perfec 
tion  of  chill  demanded  by  a  self-respecting  salad. 
Presently  I  saw  one  of  the  waiters  whisper  to  the 
host,  and  an  expression  of  alarm  pass  over  his 
face.  The  bread  had  "  given  out "  !  I  had  not 
imagined  the  enormous  consumption  of  bread  of 
which  a  wine-bibber  could  be  capable.  Passing 
around  to  the  head  of  the  table,  the  dire  story  was 
repeated  to  me,  and  it  was  well  I  had  a  physician  at 
my  right  hand!  Utter  collapse  threatened  his 
young  hostess.  As  to  the  young  host,  he  rose 
nobly  to  the  occasion.  "  Ah  !  no  bread  !  Then  we 
must  eat  cake  ! "  Thenceforth  at  all  our  dinners  a 
skeleton  entered  our  closet  —  if  an  empty  bread- 
tray  might  be  dignified  into  a  skeleton.  At  every 
dinner  and  supper  we  gave,  my  husband  stood  in 
mortal  terror  lest  the  bread  should  give  out  —  as 
it  really  did  in  very  truth  not  many  years  later. 

I  was  very  fond  of  a  little  factotum  of  my  cook, 
whom  I  promoted  from  the  kitchen  to  my  personal 
service.  As  no  bell  or  knocker  could  reach  the  ear 
in  the  regions  allotted  the  servants,  George  was  in 
vested  in  white  linen,  and  with  a  primer  for  his  en 
tertainment  and  culture  was  stationed  at  the  door 
during  visiting  hours.  He  found  it  difficult  to 
keep  awake.  My  French  teacher  would  throw  up 
his  hands  when  he  passed  out,  "Mon  Dieu  !  Comme 


My  Day  113 

il  dorme  /"  If  you  have  ever  seen  Valentine's  bust 
of  the  Nation's  Ward,  you  have  seen  George  ; 
asleep,  with  his  head  on  his  bosom  and  his  spelling- 
book  on  the  floor.  He  was  of  a  blackness  not  to  be 
illustrated  by  the  ace  of  spades,  a  crow's  wing,  or 
any  other  sable  bird  or  object,  and  this  circumstance, 
enhancing  the  purity  of  his  white  linen,  made  him 
an  attractive  and  interesting  object.  George  had 
no  imagination.  He  was  nothing  if  not  literal.  At 
one  time  ice  was  scarce  in  Richmond.  The  water 
of  the  James  was  a  rich  old-gold  color  from  the  mud 
of  the  red-clay  regions  through  which  some  of  its 
tributaries  ran,  but  it  was  considered  wholesome. 
We  filtered  it  for  drinking  and  for  tea  through  a 
great  Vesuvius  stone.  Some  of  the  old  residents 
were  wont  to  declare  they  preferred  it  to  the  clear 
water  of  the  springs,  —  several  of  which  were  in  the 
parks  of  the  city, —  complaining  that  the  spring 
water  "  lacked  body."  At  the  time  of  the  ice 
famine  we  filled  tubs  with  this  cool,  muddy  water, 
and  in  it  kept  our  bottles  of  milk.  George  once 
brought  for  my  admiration  some  fine  lettuce  the 
cook  had  bought  from  a  cart. 

"  Put  it  in  water  !  "  I  ordered.  Soon  afterwards, 
he  entered  with  several  bottles  of  milk  —  which  I 
also  told  him  to  "  put  in  water."  What  was  my 
dismay  when  the  cook  rushed  to  my  room  in  great 
heat :  - 

Cf  I  knowed  that  fool  nigger  would  give  you 
trouble  !  " 

"  Why,  what's  the  poor  child  done  ?  " 

"Po'    chile!      Little   devil,   /  call   him!      He's 


114  My  Day 

done  po'ed  out  all  the  baby's  milk  in  that  yaller 
water,  and  seasoned  it  with  lettuce  leaves  !  " 

We  found  the  society  of  Richmond  delightful. 
Southern  society  has  often  been  described,  its  mem 
bers  praised  or  blamed,  criticised  or  admired,  ac 
cording  to  the  point  of  view  ;  sometimes  commended 
as  "stately  but  condescending,  haughty  but  jovial,'' 
possessing  high  self-appreciation,  not  often  indulg 
ing  in  distasteful  egotism ;  fast  friends,  generous, 
hospitable ;  considering  conversation  an  art  to  be 
studied,  and  fitting  themselves  with  just  so  much 
knowledge  of  literature,  science,  and  art,  as  might  be 
indispensable  for  conversation  ;  but  withal  "  cul 
tured,  educated  men  of  the  world  who  would  meet 
any  visitor  on  his  own  favorite  ground." 

Richmond  society  has  always  claimed  a  certain 
seclusiveness  for  itself — not  Delusiveness  —  for  no 
body  properly  introduced  could  visit  Richmond 
without  having  a  dinner  or  evening  party  given  in 
his  honor.  "Taken  in?"  -of  course  the  enter 
tainers  were  sometimes  "taken  in"!  That  did 
not  signify  once  in  a  while. 

I  remember  a  portly  dame  with  two  showy 
daughters,  always  handsomely  attired,  who  man 
aged,  at  some  watering-place,  to  find  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  one  of  our  citizens  and  obtained  an  invita 
tion,  which  was  eagerly  accepted,  to  make  him  a 
visit.  An  evening  party  was  given  to  introduce 
them.  I  had  my  doubts  after  a  conversation  with 
Madame  Mere — and  expressed  them,  to  the  disgust 
of  one  of  my  friends.  "  Impossible,"  she  said, 
coolly.  After  they  left,  Mr.  Price,  our  leading 


My  Day  115 

merchant,  presented  a  large  bill  for  female  fineries 
with  which  he  had  unhesitatingly  credited  Madame, 
who  had  departed  with  her  daughters  to  parts  un 
known.  It  was  promptly,  and  without  a  grimace, 
paid  by  their  deluded  host.  I  could  remember  the 
sweetly  apologetic  way  in  which  Madame  had  told 
me  she  feared  her  "  girls  were  a  bit  overdressed  for 
the  small  functions  in  Richmond.  In  New  York, 
now  !  But  here,  of  course,  there  need  be  no  such 
display  as  in  New  York  !  " 

No  amusement,  except  an  occasional  song  from 
an  obliging  guest,  was  provided  for  our  evening 
parties.  Conversation  and  a  good  supper,  with  the 
one-and-only  Pizzini  to  the  fore  —  this  was  induce 
ment  enough.  Not  quite  as  spirituelle  as  Lady 
Morgan,  we  required  something  more  than  a  lump 
of  sugar  to  clear  the  voice.  And  Pizzini's  suppers  ! 
His  pyramids  of  glace  oranges,  "  non  pareil"  and 
spun  sugar;  his  ices,  his  wine  jellies,  his  blanc 
manges  and,  ye  gods  !  his  terrapin,  pickled  oysters, 
and  chicken  salad  !  We  assembled  not  much  later 
than  nine,  and  remained  as  long  as  it  pleased  us. 
Sometimes  we  acted — "  The  Honeymoon,"  or  some 
other  little  play  ;  Anna  Cora  Mowatt  (Mrs.  Ritchie) 
gave  charming  tableaux,  with  recitations  ;  but  usually 
we  talked  and  talked  and  talked !  "Art  of  conver 
sation  ? "  I  suspect  art  has  nothing  to  do  with 
conversation.  When  it  becomes  art,  it  ceases  to 
be  conversation.  We  did  not  gossip,  either.  Per 
sonalities  were  quite,  quite  out  of  the  question. 
Our  hosts  knew  to  perfection  the  art  of  entertaining. 

Sometime   in    the   fifties,  Charles   Astor   Bristed 


n6  My  Day 

wrote  his  book,  entitled,  "  The  Upper  Ten  Thou 
sand  of  New  York."  It  appears  the  world  was 
waiting  for  some  such  work.  The  theme  rippled 
from  shore  to  shore,  until  within  the  past  few  years 
it  seems  to  have  expired  with  the  myth  of  the  Four 
Hundred.  N.  P.  Willis  (wasn't  he  a  bit  of  a  snob 
himself?)  caught  with  avidity  the  new  departure 
in  Mr.  Bristed's  book,  and  eternally  harped  upon 
it.  From  1852  until  the  war,  and  afterward,  until 
the  subsidence  of  the  Four  Hundred  ripple,  we 
have  heard  a  great  deal  about  classes,  society ; 
and  finally,  American  manners  came  to  the  fore  as  a 
subject  of  journalistic  interest.  "American  man 
ners  !  Are  they  improving  in  grace  or  dignity  ? " 
The  question  was  put  to  a  number  of  men  and 
women  whose  experience  and  frankness  could  be 
relied  upon.  The  answers,  except  for  one,  were 
vague  and  cautious.  Nobody  likes  to  appear  as  a 
satirist  or  cynic  —  and  yet  nobody  is  willing  to  ac 
knowledge  that  he  knows  nothing  better  than  what 
appears  at  present  to  be  the  standard  of  good  breed 
ing,  by  comparison  with  the  standard  twenty  or 
more  years  ago. 

The  one  honest  man  revealed  by  the  lamp-light 
of  the  inquiring  editor  remembered  the  chapter  al 
lotted  to  a  contributor  in  the  preparation  of  "  a  his 
tory  of  Ireland."  The  subject  of  the  chapter  was 
dictated — "The  Snakes  of  Ireland"  -and  it  ap 
peared  with  that  heading.  It  was  brief  and  to  the 
point  —  "There  are  no  Snakes  in  Ireland." 

"  American  manners  ?  "  answered  the  one  honest 
man  ;  "  there  aren't  any." 


My  Day  117 

"  American  manners,"  said  George  William  Curtis, 
"where  do  you  find  them?  If  high  society  be  the 
general  intercourse  of  the  highest  intelligence  with 
which  we  converse,  —  the  festival  of  Wit  and  Beauty 
and  Wisdom,  —  we  do  not  find  it  at  Newport.  Fine 
society  is  a  fruit  that  ripens  slowly.  We  Americans 
fancy  we  can  buy  it." 

Foreigners  have  never  ceased  to  comment  upon 
American  manners.  The  subject  in  the  fifties 
seems  to  have  been  of  inexhaustible  interest. 
"There's  no  use,"  said  Max  O'Rell,  "in  forever 
gazing  at  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand.  They  are 
alike  all  over  the  world.  It  is  the  million  that 
differ  and  are  interesting."  Marion  Crawford  said  : 
"  The  Upper  Ten  can  never  fraternize  with  artists, 
poets,  and  inventors.  These  take  no  account  of 
wealth  or  of  any  position  not  won  by  absolute  genius 
or  merit,  treating  such  position,  indeed,  with  ill-con 
cealed  contempt." 

Thackeray  liked  to  be  agreeable  to  the  people  who 
made  his  lectures  profitable,  but  he  complains  of  the 
"  uncommon  splendatiousness  "  of  Americans.  "  But 
I  haven't  been  in  Society  yet,"  he  wrote,  in  1852;  "  I 
haven't  met  the  Upper  Ten."  Another  English 
writer  went  farther  —  much  farther  —  but  we  forbear. 
Now  these  harsh  judgments  were  exclusively  of 
manners  in  New  York,  Newport,  and  Washington. 
No  Curtis,  Bristed,  or  Willis  ever,  to  my  knowledge, 
visited  Richmond.  Thackeray,  Max  O'Rell,  and 
Ampere  never  thought  us  worth  while  —  so  our 
delightful  small  society,  which  had  ripened  slowly 
and  took  no  account  of  wealth,  and  which  could 


ii8  My  Day 

really  have  furnished  a  modicum  of  "  Wit,  beauty, 
and  Wisdom"  for  Curtis's  "  festival,"  was  unrepre 
sented.  As  to  the  criticisms  of  our  elder  brother 
across  the  water,  as  long  as  he  sends  his  sons  to 
America  to  find  the  mothers  of  the  future  peers  of 
his  realm,  the  edge  is  blunted  of  his  strictures  upon 
American  society  and  manners. 


CHAPTER   XV 

WILLIAM  WALKER,  the  "Grey-eyed 
Man  of  Destiny,"  who  was  in  1854  more 
talked  about  than  any  other  man  in  the 
country,  was  our  guest  for  several  days  in  Richmond. 
Whether  he  came  to  accept  a  dinner  given  him  by 
the  city,  or  whether  the  dinner  was  the  result  of  the 
visit,  I  cannot  remember.  Although  we  knew  him 
to  be  an  interesting  character,  we  were  unprepared 
for  the  throng  that  filled  our  house  every  day  while 
he  was  with  us.  Beginning  early  in  the  day,  they 
poured  in  until  night,  and  remained,  spellbound  by 
the  magnetism  of  this  wonderful  man.  As  we  could 
not  invite  them  to  leave  for  the  three  o'clock  dinner 
(the  dinner-hour  in  Virginia  varied  then  to  suit  indi 
vidual  convenience),  I  took  counsel  of  my  blessed  old 
negro  cook,  and  following  her  advice,  I  spread  a  table 
every  day  with  cold  dishes,  —  tongue,  ham,  chickens, 
birds,  salads,  etc.,  —  to  which  all  were  made  welcome. 
The  sideboard  ably  supplemented  this  informal  meal. 
Old  Madeira  could  be  had  in  those  days,  and  in 
lieu  of  the  cocktail  of  the  present  time,  we  brewed 
an  appetizer,  crowned  with  "  the  herb  that  grows  on 
the  grave  of  good  Virginians." 

The  Richmond  market  was  insufficient  for  sud 
den  demands.  We  depended  largely  upon  the 
small,  covered  country  carts,  intercepting  them  as 
they  passed  on  their  way  to  the  grocers',  who  bartered 

119 


Uo  My  Day 

things  dry  and  liquid  for  the  farmers'  poultry,  eggs, 
and  butter.  At  this  time  of  my  distress,  no  carts 
hove  in  sight,  but  I  knew  a  grocer  with  a  noble  soul, 
—  one  Mark  Downey,  —  to  whom  I  made  a  personal 
appeal,  and  he  promised  to  send  me,  daily,  every 
thing  he  could  gather,  from  a  roasting  pig  to  a 
reed-bird.  My  good  cook  rose  to  the  occasion: 
"Ain't  that  Gin'al  gone  yet?"  was  her  morning 
salutation,  hastily  adding,  "  Nem-mine,  honey  !  We- 
all  kin  git  along." 

In  some  of  the  biographical  sketches  of  William 
Walker  I  find  him  painted  as  little  better — in  fact, 
no  better  —  than  a  pirate;  a  man  of  an  unbounded 
stomach  for  power  and  place,  regarding  as  nothing 
life,  property,  or  his  own  word,  and  finally,  justly  for 
saken  and  punished.  Others  present  him  to  pos 
terity  as  a  scholar,  an  author,  a  graduate  of  colleges, 
a  student  at  Heidelberg,  also  a  hero  of  the  first  water, 
brave  beyond  compare  ;  a  maker  of  republics,  states 
man,  dictator,  —  in  all  things  fearless  and  dashing. 
When  I  turn  to  the  storehouse  of  my  own  memory,  I 
find  a  modest,  courtly  gentleman,  with  a  strong  but 
not  ungentle  face  :  — 

"The  mildest  mannered  man 
That  ever  scuttled  ship  or  cut  a  throat." 

Of  course  I  could  not  appear  in  the  crowd  that 
hung  upon  his  lips  all  day,  but  when  we  gathered 
around  the  evening  lamp  he  was  never  too  weary  to 
talk  to  me  —  but  not  about  his  conquests  nor  his 
ambitions.  For  a  woman's  ear  he  had  gentler  themes 
than  these. 


WILLIAM  WALKER. 


My  Day  121 

One  night  I  startled  my  husband  by  asking, 
"  What  church  do  you  belong  to,  General  ?  " 

"  I  have  recently  become  a  Catholic/'  he  answered 
gravely  ;  "  it  is  the  faith  for  a  man  like  me  !  I  have 
seen  the  poor  wounded  fellows  die  with  great  serenity 
after  the  ministration  of  their  priest/* 

I  recall  a  striking  remark  by  the  General  to  my 
husband.  He  said  men  are  commonly  equally  cou 
rageous,  the  difference  between  them  being  that  one 
man,  from  keener  sensibility,  sees  a  danger  of  which 
another  is  stolidly  insensible.  The  former  is  really 
courageous,  while  the  latter  is  indifferent  from  lack 
of  apprehension.  Himself  incapable  of  fear,  a  higher 
authority  on  the  subject  cannot  be  imagined. 

When  he  took  leave  of  us,  he  gave  me  a  perfect 
ambrotype  picture  of  himself,  probably  the  only  gen 
uine  one  extant.  <c  Here  I  am,  Madam,  and  I've 
always  been  called  an  ugly  fellow."  I  ventured  the 
usual  deprecatory  remark,  but  he  shook  his  head  :  — 

"  I'm  afraid  there's  no  doubt  about  it !  On  my 
way  here  I  heard  a  man  close  to  my  car-window  sing 
out, c  Whar's  the  Gray-eyed  Man  of  Destiny  ? '  As 
he  was  close  to  me,  I  leaned  out  and  said  in  a  low 
tone,  c  Here,  my  friend ! '  f  Friend  nothin,'  he 
sneered  ;  c  an'  you'd  better  take  in  your  ugly  mug.' ' 

He  looked  back  from  the  carriage  that  took  him 
to  the  depot  and  answered  my  waving  handker 
chief:  "  Good-by,  good-by,  dear  lady  !  I'm  going 
to  make  Nicaragua  a  nice  place,  fit  for  you  !  " 

Just  as  we  were  about  to  engage  in  our  own  life- 
and-death  struggle,  we  heard  he  had  been  betrayed, 
as  Napoleon  was  betrayed,  by  the  English,  to  whom, 


122  My  Day 

after  defeat,  he  had  fled  for  protection,  and  had  met 
his  death  bravely. 

His  dream  had  been  to  win  Nicaragua,  as  Houston 
had  won  Texas,  and  then  annex  it  to  the  United 
States,  thus  strengthening  the  power  of  the  South. 

I  have  been  told  that  many  superstitions  and  leg 
ends  have  sprung  up  in  Nicaragua  and  Honduras  to 
cluster  around  the  memory  of  William  Walker,  but 
in  none  is  there  a  firmer  belief  than  that  his  ghost 
appears  on  the  anniversary  of  his  death,  and  will  so 
appear  until  he  is  avenged.  A  Tennessee  boy, 
William  G.  Erwin,  now  helping  to  superintend  the 
digging  of  the  Panama  Canal,  has  told  the  legend, 
in  Senator  Taylor's  magazine,  from  which  I  select 
a  few  verses  :  — 

"  One  night  each  year  in  Honduras,   they  clear  the  roads  for  his 

ghost, 
Their  long  dead  Gringo  President — who  rides  with  his  phantom 

host. 

He  sweeps  o'er  the  land  in  silence  and  the  cowering  natives  hide. 
From  the  Wraith  of  William  Walker  —  who  haunts  the  land 

where  he  died. 

"  Thus  it  was  the  wild  tale  started  —  that  when  dying  on  the  sand, 
Walker  smiled  and  sternly  told  them,  'Till  avenged  I'll  haunt 

your  land  ! ' 

And  now  on  snow-white  stallion  once  a  year  at  midnight's  spell, 
Across  the  land  from  sea  to  sea  —  rides  the  form  that  all  know  well. 

"  His  head  is  high,  his  blade  is  bare,  his  white  steed  spurns  the 

ground, 
A  phantom  troop  charge  close  behind  —  but  all  make  never  a 

sound  ; 
While  his  blood  cries  yet  for  vengeance  against  this  murderous 

herd- 
He  will  ever  come  to  warn  them,  that  the  day  is  but  deferred. 


My  Day  123 

"To  the  sons  of  old   Honduras   as   they  view  him  through  the 

gloom, 

The  Gray-eyed  Man  of  Destiny  looks  the  Avatar  of  Doom  ; 
In  his  face  they  read  a  warning  like  the  writing  on  the  wall, 
'Tis,   *  Beware,  one  day  the   Gringos  will  avenge  their    chief 
tain' 's  fall  >'  " 

My  husband  entered  with  great  zeal  and  efficiency 
into  the  fight  against  "  The  Know-nothing  party/' 
or,  as  they  proudly  styled  themselves,  the  "American 
party." 

The  principles  of  this  party  were  naturally  evolved 
from  the  fact  that  the  ignorant  foreign  vote  was  in 
fluencing  elections a  in  the  cities,  that  votes  were 
freely  sold,  and  that  drunken  aliens  frequently  had 
charge  of  the  polls.  The  mythical  order  of  Wash 
ington  in  a  time  of  peculiar  danger  was  remembered  : 
"  Put  none  but  Americans  on  guard  to-night  !  " 

It  seemed  reasonable  and  fitting  that  Americans, 
who  had  won  this  country  from  the  savage,  and 
fought  all  its  early  battles  with  the  French  and  Eng 
lish,  should  govern  the  country  they  had  redeemed. 
One  thing  led  to  another,  until  it  was  resolved  to 
form  a  secret  society,  with  the  view  of  excluding  all 
foreigners  and  many  Roman  Catholics  from  any  part 
in  the  councils  of  the  nation. 

This,  briefly,  seems  to  have  been  at  the  root  of 
the  great  Know-nothing  movement.  The  imme 
diate  and  practical  aim  in  view  was  that  foreigners 
and  Catholics  should  be  excluded  from  all  national, 
state,  county,  and  municipal  offices ;  that  strenuous 
efforts  should  be  made  to  change  the  naturalization 

1  History  of  James  Ford  Rhodes,  passim. 


124  My  Day 

laws,  so  that  the  immigrant  could  not  become  a 
citizen  until  a  resident  of  twenty-one  years  in  this 
country.  My  husband  at  once  perceived  the  perni 
cious  tendency  of  the  movement,  which  was  sweeping 
the  Northern  states  with  resistless  force.  Secret 
lodges  were  formed  everywhere,  secret  ceremonies 
inaugurated  —  grip?  passwords,  and  signs.  The 
country  was  in  a  ferment  of  excitement,  followed  by 
outrageous  lawlessness.  Bands  of  women  made  raids 
on  bar-rooms  and  smashed  the  glasses,  broke  the 
casks,  and  poured  the  liquor  into  the  streets.  Our 
one  exemplar  of  similar  enterprises  should  have  lived 
in  those  days  !  Garrison  burned  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States  at  an  open-air  meeting  in  Fram- 
ingham,  Massachusetts  ;  and  the  crowd,  in  spite  of  a 
few  hisses,  shouted  "  Amen. "  A  mob  broke  into  the 
enclosure  around  the  Washington  Monument,  and 
broke  the  beautiful  block  of  marble  from  the  Temple 
of  Concord  at  Rome,  which  had  been  sent  by  the 
pope  as  a  tribute  to  Washington.  A  street  preacher, 
styling  himself  the  Angel  Gabriel,  incited  a  crowd  at 
Chelsea,  Massachusetts,  to  deeds  of  violence.  They 
smashed  the  windows  of  the  Catholic  church,  tore  the 
cross  from  the  gable  a-nd  shivered  it  to  atoms.  These 
were  only  a  few  of  the  outrages  growing  out  of  the 
excitement  engendered  by  the  Know-nothing  party. 
The  Enquirer  always  claimed  the  credit  of  unearth 
ing  and  exposing  the  signals,  passwords,  and  cere 
monies  of  the  society.  "I  don't  know"  was  one  of 
the  answers  to  the  "  grip"  when  brother  met  brother, 
and  hence  the  popular  name  of  the  organization. 
Though  Virginia  had  but  few  Catholics  and  few 


My  Day  125 

immigrants,  yet,  upon  principle,  she  withstood  and 
stayed  the  Know-nothing  torrent  that  had  hitherto 
swept  over  every  other  state. 

Party  feeling  ran  high  during  the  election  of  a 
Virginia  governor,  and  the  junior  editor  of  the  En 
quirer  bore  his  part  boldly  and  with  vigor.  For  the 
first  few  years  of  his  editorial  life  he  devoted  himself 
to  study,  confining  himself  closely  to  his  office.  A 
contemporary  writer  says  of  him  :  "  Pryor  evidently 
studied  the  highest  standards  in  his  reading,  and  his 
editorials  were  a  revelation  of  strength  and  purity 
in  classic  English.  It  was  impossible,  however,  for 
a  man  of  his  tastes  and  force  not  to  drift  into  politics 
outside  of  the  sanctum  of  his  paper,  and  the  public 
soon  recognized  him  as  one  of  the  ablest  and  most 
eloquent  speakers  upon  the  hustings  and  in  the  bitter 
discussions  that  marked  the  proceedings  of  every 
gathering  of  the  people  in  those  years.  In  the 
mutterings  and  threatenings  of  the  storm  that  was 
soon  to  break  in  fury  upon  a  hitherto  peaceful  and 
peace-loving  land,  he  found  abundant  opportunity 
for  the  cultivation  and  display  of  those  rare  powers 
of  oratory  in  debate  which  subsequently  forced  him 
to  the  front  of  the  forum."  l  I  can  only  add  to  this 
tribute  from  a  candid  historian  of  the  time  one 
observation  —  the  success  was  great :  the  memory  of 
it  sweet,  but  —  it  was  bought  with  a  price  !  The  stern 
price  of  unremitting  labor  and  self-abnegation. 

It  was  a  terrible  time  in  Virginia.  Henry  A.  Wise 
was  the  Anti-Know-nothing  candidate  for  governor, 
and  hard  and  valiant  was  the  fight  my  husband  made 

1  Claiborne's  "  Seventy  Years  in  Virginia." 


126  My  Day 

for  his  election.  It  involved  him  in  two  duels  —  not 
bloodless,  but,  thank  God,  not  fatal.  It  is  unneces 
sary  to  allude  to  my  own  fearful  anxiety.  It  will  be 
understood  by  all  women  who,  like  myself,  have  been 
and  are  sufferers  from  the  false  standard  demanded 
by  the  cc  code  of  honor, "  in  countries  where,  to 
ignore  it,  would  mean  ruin  and  disgrace.  We  were 
most  devoted  adherents  of  Mr.  Wise,  and  ready  to 
go  to  the  death  in  his  defence,  standing  as  he  did  in 
the  front,  as  we  believed,  of  the  battle  for  right, 
justice,  and  humanity.  Finally,  he  was  triumphantly 
elected,  the  pestilent  society  quenched,  and  com 
parative  peace  for  a  brief  period  reigned  in  Virginia. 

The  Democratic  party  was  grateful  for  my 
husband's  hard  work,  and  gave  him  a  beautiful 
service  of  silver,  inscribed  with  the  appreciation  of 
theparty  for  his  "brilliant  talents,  eminentworth,  and 
distinguished  service." 

Not  long  afterward  he  became  the  editor  of 
The  Richmond  South,  for  which  I  had  the  honor  to 
select  a  motto  — "  Unum  et  commune  periclum  una 
salus."  Perhaps  a  pen  picture  of  my  "  Harry  Hot 
spur/'  as  he  was  called,  may  amuse  those  whose  kind 
eyes  follow  his  venerable  figure  as  it  passes  to-day. 
"  The  day  after  our  arrival  at  the  Red  Sweet  Springs 
we  noticed  among  a  crowd  of  gentlemen  a  face  which 
strikingly  contrasted  with  the  faces  around  him.  He 
was  a  slight  figure,  with  a  set  of  features  remarkable 
for  their  intellectual  cast ;  a  profusion  of  dark  hair 
falling  from  his  brow  in  long,  straight  masses  over  the 
collar  of  his  coat  gave  a  student-like  air  to  his  whole 
appearance.  We  unconsciously  rose  to  our  feet  on 


My  Day  127 

hearing  his  name,  and  found  ourselves  in  the  actual 
presence  of  the  far-famed  editor  of  the  South  and  in 
such  close  vicinity,  too!  Why,  our  awe  increased 
almost  to  trepidation  ;  we  felt  as  if  locked  in  a  vault 
full  of  inflammable  gas,  likely  to  explode  with  the  first 
light  introduced  into  it.  Indeed,  five  minutes  wore 
away  in  preliminary  explanations  before  we  could  be 
brought  to  identify  the  youthful  person  before  us  — 
who  might  pass  for  a  student  of  divinity  or  a  young 
professor  of  moral  philosophy  —  with  the  fiery  and 
impetuous  editor  of  the  Richmond  South.  He  is, 
we  believe,  considered  one  of  the  ablest  political 
writers  in  all  the  South,  and  his  articles  were  said  to 
be  highly  influential  in  the  late  party  controversy. 
For  ourselves  we  regard  with  admiration,"  etc.  "  His 
young  family  cannot  fail  to  create  an  immediate  in 
terest  in  the  eyes  of  the  most  casual  observer.  .  .  . 
And  then  his  beautiful,  noble-looking  children  ;  they 
might  serve  as  models  for  infant  Apollos,  such  as 
Thorwaldsen  or  Flaxman  might  have  prayed  for." 

They  were   lovely  —  my  boys — my   three  little 
boys ! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ABIT    of  paper,  yellow  and  crumbling   from 
age,  has  recently  been  sent  to  me  by  the  son 
of  an  old  Charlottesville  friend.     The  tiny 
scrap  has  survived  the  vicissitudes  of  fifty-one  years, 
and  because  of  the  changes  it  has  seen  and  the  dan 
gers  it  has  passed,  if  for  nothing  more,  it  deserves 
preservation.     It  marks  an  important  era  in  our  life, 
although  it  contains  only  this  :  — 

"  CHARLOTTESVILLE,  July  i,  1858. 
"  DEAR  MRS.  COCHRAN  :  — 

"  May  I  have  your  receipt  for  brandy-peaches  ?  You 
know  Roger  is  speaking  all  over  the  country,  trying  to  win 
votes  for  a  seat  in  Congress.  I'm  not  sure  he  will  be 
elected  —  but  I  am  sure  he  will  like  some  brandy-peaches  ! 
If  he  is  successful,  they  will  enhance  the  glory  of  victory  — 
if  he  is  defeated,  they  will  help  to  console  him. 

"  Affectionately, 

"  S.  A.  PRYOR." 

In  this  campaign  my  husband  established  his  repu 
tation  as  an  orator.  He  was  canvassing  the  dis 
trict  of  his  kinsman,  John  Randolph  of  Roanoke,  and 
old  men  who  heard  his  speeches  did  not  hesitate  to 
declare  him  the  equal  of  the  eccentric  but  eloquent 
Randolph.  I  always  like  to  quote  directly  from  the 
journals  of  the  day,  —  I  like  my  countrymen  to  tell 
my  story,  —  and  happily,  although  I  lost  all  memo- 

128 


My  Day  129 

randa,  some  old  men  have  written  since  the  war  of 
the  noted  Virginians  whom  they  knew  in  the  fifties. 
One  from  a  North  Carolina  paper  I  have  preserved, 
but  lost  the  precise  date. 

"  The  late  Rev.  Thos.  G.  Lowe,  of  Halifax,  was 
the  greatest  natural  orator  North  Carolina  ever  pro 
duced.  He  was  silver-tongued  and  golden-mouthed, 
a  cross  between  Chrysostom  and  Fenelon.  He  was, 
besides,  a  very  earnest  Whig  in  his  politics.  On  one 
occasion,  in  1860,  we  knew  him  to  go  from  Halifax 
to  Henderson,  a  distance  of  some  sixty  miles,  to  hear 
Pryor  speak.  We  asked  him  what  he  thought  of 
the  Virginian.  His  reply  was,  c  You  think  I  didn't 
stand  up  in  a  hot  sun  three  mortal  hours  just  to 
hear  him  abuse  my  party?  He  is  wonderful,  with 
the  finest  vocabulary  I  have  ever  known/  Charles 
Bruce,  Esq.,  of  Charlotte,  Virginia,  told  us,  in  1870, 
that  when  Pryor  spoke  at  Charlotte  Court  House,  he 
saw  elderly  gentlemen  who  had  ridden  forty  miles  in 
their  carriages  to  hear  him,  and  who  said  to  each 
other,  after  the  great  orator  had  concluded  his  mas 
terly  effort,  ( We  have  had  no  such  speaking  in 
Virginia  since  John  Randolph's  day/  " 

Another  from  the  old  district  writes,  July  9, 
1891  :  — 

"  Of  all  the  men  I  ever  heard  speak,  Pryor  made  the 
strongest  impression  on  me.  Young,  enthusiastic,  brilliant ; 
with  a  not  unbecoming  faith  in  a  capacity  of  high  order,  he 
might  reasonably  have  aspired  to  the  loftiest  dignities.  He 
was  a  born  orator ;  thorough  master  of  those  rare  persuasive 
powers  that  captivate  and  lead  multitudes.  His  figure  was 
erect  and  finely  proportioned,  his  gestures  easy  and  graceful, 


130  My  Day 

his  features  mobile  and  expressive  of  every  shade  of  emotion. 
But  the  charm  of  his  oratory  lay  in  his  wonderfully  organ 
ized  vocal  apparatus,  which  he  played  upon  with  the  skill 
of  a  musical  expert.  No  speaker  of  the  present  time  can 
claim  to  rival  him  in  the  easy  flow  of  rhetoric  that  sparkled 
through  his  harmoniously  balanced  periods,  except,  probably, 
Senator  Daniel.  While  listening  to  him,  the  Richard  Henry 
Lee  of  Wirt's  graphic  portraiture  seemed  to  move  and 
speak  in  every  tone  and  gesture." 

Another  for  the  Richmond  Times-Democrat  of  No 
vember  2,  1902,  writes  :  — 

u  A  famous  orator  of  the  antebellum  period  was  Roger 
A.  Pryor,  who  still  survives.  He  had  a  poetic  imagina 
tion,  which  is  the  basis  of  all  true  oratory.  His  vocabu 
lary,  though  florid,  was  superb,  and  kept  company  with 
the  airy  creatures  of  his  exuberant  imagination.  He  rarely 
spoke  but  to  evolve  a  beautiful  figure,  and  in  his  political 
campaigns  for  Congress,  in  the  now  Fourth  Virginia  dis 
trict,  he  frequently  soared  above  the  comprehension  of  his 
audience,  whose  reading  was  limited.  He  combined  a 
logical  mind  with  his  poetic  fancy,  and  the  effect  and  prod 
uct  of  his  thought  were  striking  and  impressive,  illustrat 
ing  the  aphorism  that  the  poet  always  sees  most  deeply  into 
human  nature.  Pryor  had  the  face,  the  figure,  the  dra 
matic  air,  the  attitude,  and  the  vocabulary.  When  we  saw 
him  last  summer  at  the  White  Sulphur,  he  looked  the  grave 
and  dignified  jurist,  in  contrast  with  the  typical  politician 
and  editor  of  the  fire-eating  school  of  fifty  years  ago." 

While  all  these  fine  speeches  were  delighting  our 
Democratic  friends,  I  was  very  happy  with  my  dear 
aunt  at  her  country  place,  Rock  Hill,  near  Char- 
lottesville.  There  my  dear  son  Roger  was  born  — 


My  Day  131 

now  my  only  son.  The  house,  like  a  small  Swiss 
chalet,  was  perched  lightly  on  the  side  of  an  eleva 
tion  that  well  deserved  its  name.  From  the  crest 
of  the  hill  there  was  a  noble  view  of  the  Blue  Moun 
tains,  and  of  sunsets  indescribable.  To  the  little 
boy  and  girl  who  spent  their  childhood  at  this  place 
it  soon  became  enchanted  ground.  A  quarry,  from 
which  stone  had  been  taken  for  building  the  house, 
was  the  cave  of  Bunyan's  giants,  Pope  and  Pagan, 
who  "  hailed  the  Christians  as  they  passed,  saying, 
(  Turn  in  hither '  "  ;  two  crayfish  that  lived  in  the 
great  spring  under  the  Druidical  oaks  were  the 
genii  of  the  fountain ;  the  corn-field  was  a  mighty 
forest  to  be  entered  with  fear  because  of  the  Indians 
and  wild  beasts  therein. 

These  two  children,  Gordon  and  her  brother, 
Theodorick,  fourteen  months  younger,  were  blessed 
in  having  my  own  dear  aunt's  care  and  teaching 
from  their  infancy  until  they  were  aged  respectively 
nine  and  ten  years.  They  were  not  at  first  "re 
markable  "  children.  They  were  not  infant  phenom 
ena,  subjected  to  the  perilous  applause  of  admiring 
friends  and  kindred.  They  were  normal  in  every 
respect  —  clean-blooded,  sturdy,  and  wholesome; 
with  good  appetites,  cool  heads,  and  quick  percep 
tions.  They  became,  under  the  care  of  their  wise 
preceptor,  unusually  interesting  and  intelligent  chil 
dren.  My  aunt  adored  the  children,  firmly  be 
lieving  that,  however  degeneracy  might  have  impaired 
the  human  race  in  its  progress  of  evolution,  —  these 
two  at  least  had  been  made  in  God's  image.  In  the 
words  of  their  nurse,  she  "  tuned  them  as  if  they 


132  My  Day 

were  little  harps — just  to  see  how  sweet  the  music 
could  be  ! "  They  studied  together  —  Gordon  under 
standing  that  she  must  encourage  the  little  brother, 
and  read  to  him  until  he  could  read  himself.  In 
summer  the  schoolroom  was  sometimes  al  fresco, 
even  drawing  upon  the  knotted  branches  of  the 
cherry  tree  for  desks ! 

Gordon  read  very  well  at  the  age  of  three.  She 
was  also  taught,  before  she  could  read,  to  point  out 
rivers  and  cities  on  a  map.  Before  he  was  four, 
Theodorick  could  read  also.  The  children  never 
had  a  distasteful  task.  I  heard  a  great  scholar  say 
that  all  learning  could  be  made  charming  to  a  young 
mind.  The  aunt  of  these  children  made  their  les 
sons  a  reward.  "  Now  be  good  when  you  dress, 
and  you  may  have  a  lesson,"  or  "if  Gordon  and 
Theo  don't  ask  for  anything,  I  will  give  them  a 
lesson  right  after  dinner."  The  lessons,  through 
the  teacher's  skill  and  patience,  were  made  delightful. 
At  once  they  were  given  paper  and  pencils,  colored 
and  plain,  and  both  wrote  before  they  were  five. 
Their  teacher  disapproved  of  gory  tales  of  giants 
and  hobgoblins.  Instead  of  these,  they  had  his 
tories  quite  as  thrilling,  and  stories  of  the  animal 
kingdom,  with  which  they  lived  in  perfect  amity  and 
kinship.  They  never  had  caged  birds,  but  ducks 
and  chickens,  dogs  small  and  great,  cats  and  kittens, 
were  all  regarded  as  part  of  the  family,  and  bore 
historic  names.  Theo  once  picked  up  (he  was 
three)  a  small  chicken,  whereupon  the  mother  hen 
rose  to  his  shoulders  and  administered  a  good 
spanking  with  her  wings.  A  servant,  with  great 


My  Day  133 

heat,  belabored  the  hen  ;  and  Theo  checked  his  sobs 
to  entreat  for  her,  explaining,  "  she  didn't  like  for  me 
to  love  her  little  white  chicken."  The  hen,  for 
sooth,  was  jealous  !  He  once  caught  a  bee  in  his 
hand  and  received  a  stinging  rebuke.  "  How  could 
you  be  so  silly?"  exclaimed  his  little  sister.  "Not 
at  all,"  said  Theo;  "  I  have  often  done  the  same 
thing — but  this  little  fellow,"  he  added  affection 
ately,  "this  little  fellow  had  a  brier  in  his  tail!" 
Their  aunt  hesitated  whether  she  should  tell  them 
harrowing  stories  from  history,  but  experiment 
proved,  however,  that  the  heroic  held  for  them  such 
fascination  that  they  lost  sight  completely  of  the  pain 
or  suffering  attending  it.  They  adored  the  men  and 
women  who  died  bravely,  but  had  their  favorites. 
Lady  Jane  Grey  was  not  one,  nor  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots  (perhaps  because  of  their  ruffs),  but  they  wor 
shipped  Marie  Antoinette  and  Charles  I.  They 
had  a  very  high  regard  for  honor  and  fair  dealing. 
Theo  was  a  little  over  three  years  when  he  com 
plained  to  me  of  his  little  sister,  "  I  just  laid  my 
head  on  the  stool  and  let  her  chop  it  off — because 
I  am  Charles  I  —  and  now  she  is  Marie  Antoinette, 
and  when  I  am  ready  to  cut  off  her  head,  she 
screams  and  runs  away."  His  sense  of  justice  was 
outraged,  but  the  little  sister's  vivid  imagination 
made  her  nervous,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  a 
cushion  was  the  guillotine  !  Having  observed  that 
a  large  knotted  stick  was  treated  with  respect,  and 
travelled,  to  my  inconvenience,  with  Theo  on  sev 
eral  journeys,  I  essayed  to  throw  it  away.  With 
great  dignity  he  gravely  informed  me,  "  This  is 


134  My  Day 

Rameses  III."  Not  only  was  it  one  of  the  Egyp 
tian  kings,  but  the  richest  of  them  all.  I  wish  I 
could  follow  these  two  fascinating  children  beyond 
their  babyhood,  but  I  cannot  venture  !  I  dare  not ! 

Late  in  the  autumn  I  left  Rock  Hill  to  visit  my 
uncle  at  the  Oaks  in  Charlotte.  I  had  travelled 
alone  from  Richmond  to  Mossingford,  ten  or  twelve 
miles  from  my  uncle's  house,  and  there  old  Uncle 
Peter  met  me  with  the  great  high-swung  chariot  and 
a  hamper  well  filled  with  broiled  partridges,  biscuits, 
cakes,  and  fruit.  The  rain  had  poured  a  steady 
flood  for  several  days,  but  to  my  joy  the  clouds  were 
now  rolling  away  in  heavy  masses,  and  the  sun  shin 
ing  hotly  on  the  water-soaked  earth. 

"We  got  to  hurry,  Mistis,"  said  the  old  coachman, 
as  we  prepared  to  enjoy  an  al  fresco  luncheon ; 
"  the  cricks  was  risin'  mighty  fas'  when  I  come 
along  fo'  sun-up  dis  mornin'." 

"But  we  don't  have  to  cross  the  river,  Uncle 
Peter?" 

"Gawd  A'mighty,  no,"  exclaimed  the  old  man. 
"  Ef'n  I  had  to  cross  Staunton  River,  I'd  done  give 
clean  up,  fo'  I  see  you!  When  we  git  home,  we'll 
fine  out  what  ole  Staunton  River  doin'.  I  lay  she's 

*         >        'L  "  1  *        >  I  » 

jes   a  bihn  ! 

"Well,  then  there  is  some  danger?" 

"Who  talkin'  'bout  danger?  De  kerridge  sets 
mighty  high.  No'm,  der  ain't  no  danger,  but  I  ain't 
trustin'  dem  cricks.  I  knows  cricks !  Dee  kin 
swell  deeself  up  as  big's  a  river  in  no  time!" 

We  had  not  gone  far  before  we  were  overtaken  by 
a  mud-splashed  horseman,  who  arrested  our  horses 


My  Day  135 

and  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  the  driver.  Presently  he 
appeared  at  the  carnage  window.  "This  is  Mrs. 
Pryor?  You  remember  Mr.  Carrington  ?  I  hope 
I  see  you  well,  Madam.  I  am  on  my  way  to  vote 
for  your  husband — or  rather,  help  elect  him.  We 
have  a  fine  day;  the  polls  need  not  be  kept  open 
to-morrow.  But  I  must  hasten  on.  We  will  soon 
have  the  pleasure  of  congratulating  our  congress 


man." 


"  One  moment,  please,  Mr.  Carrington!  Are  the 
creeks  too  high  for  us  to  cross  ? " 

"  I  think  not,  Madam.  The  carriage  hangs  high, 
and  Peter  knows  all  about  freshets.  Good  morning." 

There  were  swollen  streams  for  us  to  cross. 
Several  of  them  had  overflowed  the  meadows  until 
they  looked  like  lakes.  At  one  or  two  the  water 
flowed  over  the  floor  of  the  carriage,  and  we  gathered 
our  feet  under  us  on  the  seats.  My  little  Theo 
enjoyed  it,  but  my  poor  nurse  was  ashen  from  terror. 
Very  wet,  very  cold,  and  very  grateful  were  we  when 
at  night  we  reached  our  haven.  My  dear  uncle, 
Dr.  Rice,  was  already  there,  with  cheering  news  from 
the  polls. 

The  next  morning  we  looked  out  upon  a  turbid 
yellow  sea.  The  Staunton  had  sustained  her  repu 
tation,  overflowed  her  low  banks,  and  spread  herself 
generously  over  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  was  a  week 
or  more  before  my  husband  was  assured  of  his 
election.  He  spent  the  intervening  days  of  rest 
sleeping — like  the  boy  he  was! 

Several  years  later,  when  he  was  reelected,  we 
were  in  Richmond  with  my  little  family.  Gordon 


136  My  Day 

and  the  two  little  boys  were  keen  politicians.  Of 
course  I  was  now  too  busy  a  mother  to  concern 
myself  with  politics,  as  was  my  wont  in  the  earlier 
days.  Moreover,  I  knew  my  congressman  would 
be  reflected.  I  was  pretty  sure  by  this  time  that 
he  would  always  be  elected — so  the  day  passed 
serenely  with  me.  I  was  overwhelmed  with  dismay 
when  one  of  his  friends  called  after  the  polls  closed 
at  sunset,  and  informed  me  that  a  torch-light  pro 
cession  would  reach  our  house  about  eight  o'clock, 
and  would  expect  to  find  it  illuminated. 

"Illuminated!"  I  exclaimed.  "And  pray  with 
what  ?  There  are  not  half  a  dozen  candles  in  the 
house,  and  the  stores  are  all  closed.  Besides,  the 
baby  will  be  asleep.  It  is  bad  for  babies  to  be  waked 
out  of  their  first  sleep." 

My  friend  did  not  contradict  me,  but  in  the  even 
ing  he  sent  a  bushel  of  small  turnips  and  a  box  of 
candles,  with  a  note  telling  me  to  cut  a  hole  in  the 
turnips,  insert  a  candle,  and  they  would  answer  my 
purpose  admirably.  Everybody  went  to  work  with 
a  will,  and  when  the  crowd,  shouting  and  cheering, 
surrounded  us,  every  window-pane  blazed  a  welcome 
into  the  happy  faces.  My  young  congressman 
made  one  of  his  charming  speeches,  and  then  —  the 
lights  went  out  on  the  last  election  he  was  destined 
to  celebrate !  True,  he  was  twice  after  elected  to 
Congress  —  in  the  Confederate  States  ;  for  the  South 
had  need  of  him  in  her  legislative  hall  as  well  as  in 
the  field.  In  both  he  gave  her  all  his  heart  and  soul 
and  strength,  but  the  days  were  too  sad  for  illumi 
nations  in  his  honor. 


My  Day  137 

My  story  has  now  reached  the  period  at  which  my 
"  Reminiscences  of  Peace  and  War  "  begin.  I  shall 
not  relate  the  political  history  of  the  period  —  which 
has  been  better  told  by  others  than  I  can  hope  to  tell 
it.  I  shall  endeavor  to  bring  forward  some  things  that 
were  omitted  in  my  late  book,  but  in  narrating  the  in 
cidents  of  the  Civil  War  and  the  preceding  life  in 
Washington,  I  may  in  some  measure  repeat  myself. 
For  this  I  have  a  valid  excuse.  Apologizing  for 
quoting  himself  from  a  former  book  on  Edmund 
Burke,  John  Morley  remarks  :  "  Though  you  may 
say  what  you  have  to  say  well  once,  you  cannot  so 
say  it  twice.'1  Lord  Morley  strengthens  his  posi 
tion  by  a  quotation  in  Greek,  which,  unhappily,  re 
mains  Greek  to  me,  and  I  therefore  cannot  avail  my 
self  of  its  help,  but  I  am  glad  to  be  sustained  by  his 
example.  Besides,  what  says  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  ?  "  It  is  the  height  of  conceit  for  an  author 
to  be  afraid  of  repeating  himself —  because  it  implies 
that  everybody  has  read  —  and  remembers  —  what 
he  has  said  before." 


CHAPTER    XVII 

WASHINGTON  was  like  a  great  village  in 
the  days  of  President  Pierce  and  President 
Buchanan.  My  own  pride  in  the  federal  city 
was  such  that  my  heart  would  swell  within  me  at  every 
glimpse  of  the  Capitol :  from  the  moment  it  rose  like  a 
white  cloud  above  the  smoke  and  mists,  as  I  stood  on 
the  deck  of  the  steamboat  (having  run  up  from  my  din 
ner  to  salute  Mount  Vernon),  to  the  time  when  I  was 
wont  to  watch  from  my  window  for  the  sunset,  that  I 
might  catch  the  moment  when  a  point  on  the  un 
finished  dome  glowed  like  a  great  blazing  star  after 
the  sun  had  really  gone  down.  No  matter  whether 
suns  rose  or  set,  there  was  the  star  of  our  country, 
—  the  star  of  our  hearts  and  hopes. 

When  our  friends  came  up  from  Virginia  to  make 
us  visits,  it  was  delightful  to  take  a  carriage  and  give 
up  days  to  sight-seeing;  to  visit  the  White  House 
and  Capitol,  the  Patent  Office,  with  its  miscellaneous 
treasures ;  to  point  with  pride  to  the  rich  gifts  from 
crowned  heads  which  our  adored  first  President  was 
too  conscientious  to  accept ;  to  walk  among  the 
stones  lying  around  the  base  of  the  unfinished  monu 
ment  and  read  the  inscriptions  from  the  states  pre 
senting  them ;  to  spend  a  day  at  the  Smithsonian 
Institution,  and  to  introduce  our  friends  to  its  presi 
dent,  Mr.  Henry;  and  to  Mr.  Spenser  Baird  and 
Mr.  George,  who  were  giving  their  lives  to  the  study 

138 


My  Day  139 

of  birds,  beasts,  and  fishes,  —  finding  them,  as  Mr. 
George  still  contended,  "  so  much  more  interesting 
than  men,"  adding  hastily,  "  We  do  not  say  ladies," 
and  blushing  after  the  manner  of  cloistered  scholars  ; 
to  hint  of  interesting  things  about  Mr.  George,  who 
was  a  melancholy  young  man,  and  who  had,  as  we 
know,  sustained  a  great  sorrow. 

Then  the  visits  to  the  galleries  of  the  House  and 
Senate  Chamber,  and  the  honor  of  pointing  out  the 
great  men  to  our  friends  from  rural  districts ;  the 
long  listening  to  interminable  speeches,  not  clearly 
understood,  but  heard  with  a  reverent  conviction 
that  all  was  coming  out  right  in  the  end,  that  every 
body  was  really  working  for  the  good  of  his  coun 
try,  and  that  we  belonged  to  it  all  and  were  parts  of 
it  all. 

This  was  the  thought  behind  all  other  thoughts 
which  glorified  everything  around  us,  enhanced 
every  fortunate  circumstance,  and  caused  us  to 
ignore  the  real  discomforts  of  life  in  Washington  : 
the  cold,  the  ice-laden  streets  in  winter ;  the  whirl 
winds  of  dust  and  driving  rains  of  spring ;  the 
swift-coming  fierceness  of  summer  heat ;  the  rapid 
atmospheric  changes  which  would  give  us  all  these 
extremes  in  one  week,  or  even  one  day,  until  it 
became  the  part  of  prudence  never  to  sally  forth 
on  any  expedition  without  "  a  fan,  an  overcoat,  and 
an  umbrella." 

The  social  life  in  Washington  was  almost  as  vari 
able  as  the  climate.  At  the  end  of  every  four  years 
the  kaleidoscope  turned,  and  lo  !  —  a  new  central 
jewel  and  new  colors  and  combinations  in  the  setting. 


140  My  Day 

But  behind  this  "  floating  population/*  as  the 
political  circles  were  termed,  there  was  a  fine  so 
ciety  in  the  fifties  of  "  old  residents "  who  held 
themselves  apart  from  the  motley  crowd  of  office- 
seekers.  This  society  was  sufficient  to  itself,  never 
seeking  the  new,  while  accepting  it  occasionally  with 
discretion,  reservations,  and  much  discriminating 
care.  The  sisters,  Mrs.  Gales  and  Mrs.  Seaton, 
wives  of  the  editors  of  the  National  Intelligencer, 
led  this  society.  Mrs.  Gales's  home  was  outside  the 
city,  and  thence  every  day  Mr.  Gales  was  driven  in 
his  barouche  to  his  office.  His  paper  was  the  ex 
ponent  of  the  Old  Line  Whigs  (the  Republican 
party  was  formed  later),  and  in  stern  opposition  to 
the  Democrats.  It  was,  therefore,  a  special  and 
unexpected  honor  for  a  Democrat  to  be  permitted 
to  drive  out  to  "  the  cottage  "  for  a  glass  of  wine 
and  a  bit  of  fruit-cake  with  Mrs.  Gales  and  Mrs. 
Seaton.  Never  have  I  seen  these  gentlewomen  ex 
celled  in  genial  hospitality.  Mrs.  Gales  was  a  hand 
some  woman  and  a  fine  conversationalist.  She  had 
the  courteous  repose  born  of  dignity  and  intelli 
gence  and  a  certain  reticence  which  makes  for  dis 
tinction.  She  was  literally  her  husband's  right 
hand,  —  he  had  lost  his  own,  —  and  was  the  only 
person  who  could  decipher  his  left-hand  writing. 
So  that  when  anything  appeared  from  his  pen  it 
had  been  copied  by  his  wife  before  it  reached  the 
type-setter.  A  fine  education  this  for  an  intelligent 
woman ;  the  very  best  schooling  for  a  social  life 
including  diplomats  from  foreign  countries,  politi 
cians  of  diverse  opinions,  artists,  authors,  musicians, 


My  Day  141 

women  of  fashion,  to  entertain  whom  required  infi 
nite  tact,  cleverness,  and  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  absorbing  questions  of  the  day. 

Of  course  the  levees  and  state  receptions,  which 
were  accessible  to  all,  required  none  of  these  things. 
The  role  of  hostess  on  state  occasions  could  be 
filled  creditably  by  any  woman  of  ordinary  physical 
strength,  patience,  self-control,  who  knew  when  to 
be  silent. 

Washington  society,  at  the  time  of  which  I  write, 
was  comparatively  free  from  non-official  men  of 
wealth  from  other  cities  who,  weary  with  the  monot 
onous  round  of  travel,  —  to  the  Riviera,  to  Egypt, 
to  Monte  Carlo,  —  are  attracted  by  the  unique  at 
mosphere  of  a  city  holding  many  foreigners,  and 
devoted  not  to  commercial  but  to  social  and  politi 
cal  interests.  The  doors  of  the  White  House  and 
Cabinet  offices  being  open  on  occasions  to  all,  they 
have  opportunities  denied  them  in  their  own  homes. 
Society  in  Washington  in  the  fifties  was  peculiarly 
interesting  in  that  it  was  composed  exclusively  of 
men  whose  presence  argued  them  to  have  been  of 
importance  at  home.  They  had  been  elected  by 
the  people,  or  chosen  by  the  President,  or  selected 
among  the  very  best  in  foreign  countries,  or  they 
belonged  to  the  United  States  Army  or  Navy  ser 
vice,  or  to  the  descendants  of  the  select  society 
which  had  gathered  in  the  city  early  in  its  history.1 

As  I  had  come  to  Washington  from  Virginia, 
where  everybody's  great-grandfather  knew  my 
great-grandfather,  where  the  rules  of  etiquette  were 

1  "  Reminiscences  of  Peace  and  War,"  passim. 


142  My  Day 

only  those  of  courtesy  and  good  breeding,  I  had 
many  a  troubled  moment  in  my  early  Washington 
life,  lest  I  should  transgress  some  law  of  prece 
dence,  etc.  I  wisely  took  counsel  with  one  of  my 
"  old  residents,"  and  she  gave  me  a  few  simple 
rules  whereby  the  young  chaperon  of  a  very  young 
girl  might  be  guided :  "  My  dear,"  said  this  lady, 
"  my  dear,  you  know  you  cannot  always  have  your 
husband  to  attend  you.  It  will  be  altogether 
proper  for  you  to  go  with  your  sister  to  morning 
and  afternoon  receptions.  When  you  arrive,  send 
for  the  host  or  the  master  of  ceremonies,  and  he 
will  take  you  in  and  present  you.  Of  course,  your 
husband  will  take  you  to  balls ;  if  he  is  busy,  you 
simply  cannot  go  !  I  think  you  would  do  well  to 
make  a  rule  never,  under  any  circumstances,  to 
drive  in  men's  carriages.  There  are  so  many 
foreigners  here,  you  must  be  careful.  They  never 
bring  their  own  court  manners  to  Washington. 
They  take  their  cue  from  the  people  they  meet. 
If  you  are  high  and  haughty,  they  will  be  high  and 
haughty.  If  you  are  genially  civil  but  reserved, 
they  will  be  so.  If  you  talk  personalities  in  a  free 
and  easy  way,  they  will  spring  some  audacious  piece 
of  scandal  on  you,  and  the  Lord  only  knows  where 
they'll  end." 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  I  had  just  received  a 
request  from  a  Frenchman  who  had  brought  letters 
to  be  allowed  to  escort  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
to  a  fete  in  Georgetown.  We  were  to  drive  through 
the  avenue  of  blossoming  crab-apples,  and  rendez 
vous  at  a  spring  for  a  picnic.  I  forget  the  name  of 


My  Day  143 

our  hostess,  but  she  had  arranged  a  gay  festival,  in 
cluding  music  and  dancing  on  the  green.  I  had 
accepted  this  invitation  and  the  escort  of  M.  Raoul, 
and  received  a  note  from  him  asking  at  what  hour 
he  should  have  the  honor,  etc.,  and  I  immediately 
ran  home  and  wrote  that  "Madame  would  be  happy 
to  see  M.  Raoul  a  trots  heures"  —  and  that  Madame 
asked  the  privilege  of  using  her  own  horses,  etc.  I 
made  haste  to  engage  an  open  carriage,  and  con 
gratulated  myself  on  my  clever  management. 

The  afternoon  was  delicious.  Monsieur  appeared 
on  the  moment,  and  we  waited  for  my  carriage.  The 
gay  equipages  of  other  members  of  the  party  drove 
up  and  waited  for  us.  Presently,  rattling  down  the 
street,  came  an  old  ramshackle  c<  night-hawk,"  bear 
ing  the  mud-and-dust  scars  of  many  journeys,  the 
seats  ragged  and  tarnished,  raw-boned  horses  with 
rat-eaten  manes  and  tails,  harness  tied  with  rope,  — 
the  only  redeeming  feature  the  old  negro  on  the  box, 
who,  despite  his  humiliating  entourage,  had  the  air  of 
a  gentleman. 

What  could  I  do  ?  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done! 

Monsieur  handed  me  in  without  moving  a  muscle 
of  his  face,  handed  in  my  sister,  entered  himself,  and 
spoke  no  word  during  the  drive.  He  conducted  us 
gravely  to  the  place  of  rendezvous,  silently  and 
gravely  walked  around  the  grounds  with  us,  silently 
and  gravely  brought  us  home  again. 

I  grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns,  and  almost  shed 
tears  of  mortification.  I  made  no  apology  —  what 
could  I  say  ?  Arriving  at  my  own  door,  I  turned 


144  My  Day 

and  invited  my  escort  to  enter.  He  raised  his  hat, 
and  with  an  air  of  the  deepest  dejection,  dashed  with 
something  very  like  sarcastic  humility,  said  he  trusted 
Madame  had  enjoyed  the  afternoon,  —  thanked  her 
for  the  honor  done  himself,  —  and  only  regretted 
the  disappointment  of  the  French  Minister,  the  Count 
de  Sartiges,  at  not  having  been  allowed  to  serve 
Madame  with  his  own  state  coach,  which  had  been 
placed  at  his  disposal  for  Madame's  pleasure  ! 

As  he  turned  away,  my  chagrin  was  such  I  came 
very  near  forgetting  to  give  my  coachman  his  little 
"tip." 

I  began,  "  Oh,  Uncle,  how  could  you  ?  "  when  he 
interrupted :  "  Now  Mistis,  don't  you  say  nothin' ; 
I  knowed  dis  ole  fune'al  hack  warn't  fittin'  for  you, 
but  der  warn't  nar  another  kerridge  in  de  stable.  De 
boss  say, c  Go  'long,  Jerry,  an'  git  er  dar  ! '  —  an'  I 
done  done  it !  An'  I  done  fotch  'er  back,  too  ! " 

I  never  saw  M.  Raoul  afterward.  There's  no  use 
crying  over  spilt  milk,  or  broken  eggs,  or  French 
monsieurs,  or  even  French  counts  and  ministers.  I 
soon  left  for  Virginia,  and  to  be  relieved  of  the  dread 
of  meeting  M.  Raoul  softened  my  regret  at  leaving 
Washington. 

I  am  sorry  I  cannot,  at  length,  describe  the  brill 
iant  society  of  Washington  during  the  few  years 
preceding  the  Civil  War.  I  have  done  this  else 
where,  and  need  not  repeat  it  here.  But  for  the 
anxieties  engendered  by  the  exciting  questions  of  the 
day,  my  own  happiness  would  have  been  complete. 
I  found  and  made  many  friends.  My  husband  was 
appreciated,  my  children  healthy  and  good,  my  home 


My  Day  145 

delightful.  Many  of  the  brilliant  men  and  women 
assembled  in  Washington  were  known  to  me  more  or 
less  intimately,  and  everybody  was  kind  to  me. 
President  Buchanan  early  noticed  and  invited  me. 
"  The  President/'  said  Mr.  Dudley  Mann,  "  admires 
your  husband  and  wonders  why  you  were  not  at  the 
levee.  He  has  asked  me  to  see  that  you  come  to 
the  next  one/'  I  once  ventured  to  send  him  a 
Virginia  ham,  with  directions  for  cooking  it.  It  was 
to  be  soaked  overnight,  gently  boiled  three  or  four 
hours,  suffered  to  get  cold  in  its  own  juices,  and  then 
toasted.  This  would  seem  simple  enough,  but  the 
executive  cook  disdained  it,  perhaps  for  the  reason 
that  it  was  so  simple.  The  dish,  a  shapeless,  jelly- 
like  mass,  was  placed  before  the  President.  He 
took  his  knife  and  fork  in  hand  to  honor  the  dish 
by  carving  it  himself,  looked  at  it  helplessly,  and 
called  out,  "  Take  it  away  !  Take  it  away  !  Oh, 
Miss  Harriet !  You  are  a  poor  housekeeper  !  Not 
even  a  Virginia  lady  can  teach  you." 

The  glass  dishes  of  the  epergne  contained  wonder 
ful  "  French  kisses"  —  two-inch  squares  of  crystal 
lized  sugar  wrapped  in  silver  paper,  and  elaborately 
decorated  with  lace  and  artificial  flowers.  I  was 
very  proud  at  one  dinner  when  the  President  said  to 
me, "  Madam,  I  am  sending  you  a  souvenir  for  your 
little  daughter,"  and  a  waiter  handed  me  one  of  those 
gorgeous  affairs.  He  had  questioned  me  about  my 
boys,  and  I  had  told  him  of  my  daughter  Gordon, 
eight  years  old,  who  lived  with  her  grandmother. 
"You  must  bring  her  to  see  Miss  Harriet,"  he  had 
said  —  which,  in  due  season,  I  did;  an  event,  with 


146  My  Day 

its  crowning  glory  of  a  checked  silk  dress,  white  hat 
and  feather,  which  she  proudly  remembers  to  this 
day.  Having  been  duly  presented  at  court,  the  little 
lady  was  much  "  in  society,"  and  accompanied  me  to 
many  brilliant  afternoon  functions. 

She  was  a  thoughtful  listener  to  the  talk  in  her 
father's  library,  and  once,  when  an  old  politician  spoke 
sadly  of  a  possible  rupture  of  the  United  States, 
surprised  and  delighted  him  by  slipping  her  hand 
in  his  and  saying,  "  Never  mind !  United  will  spell 
£7»/*Wjust  as  well"  —  a  little  mot  which  was  remem 
bered  and  repeated  long  afterward. 

An  interesting  time  was  the  arrival  in  Washington 
of  the  first  Japanese  Embassy  that  visited  this  coun 
try.  All  Washington  was  crazy  over  the  event.  I 
have  told  elsewhere  of  my  own  childish  behavior 
upon  that  occasion  —  when,  not  having  much  of  a 
head  to  speak  of,  I  lost  the  little  I  had.  Having 
already  cared  for  the  health  of  my  soul  by  honest 
confession,  I  need  not  repeat  it  here.  I  was  nervous 
lest  the  Japanese  dignitaries  should  recognize  me  as 
the  effusive  lady  who  had  met  them  en  route^  but  I 
carefully  avoided  wearing  in  their  presence  the  bon 
net  and  gown  they  had  seen,  and  if  they  remembered 
they  gave  no  sign. 

Washington  lost  its  head !  There  was  something 
ridiculous  in  the  way  it  behaved.  So  many  fetes 
were  given  to  the  Japanese,  so  many  dinners,  so 
many  receptions,  we  were  worn  out  attending  them. 
"I  don't  know  what  we  have  come  here  for,"  said 
one  senator  to  another ;  "  there's  nothing  whatever 
done  at  the  House."  "/  know,"  his  friend 


My  Day  147 

replied ;  "  we  came  here  to  wait  on  the  Japanese 
at  table." 

At  the  end  of  one  of  the  balls  given  them  I  had 
seated  myself  at  the  door  of  an  anteroom,  while  my 
husband  was  struggling  for  his  carnage  in  the  street. 
Across  the  room  Miss  Lane,  with  her  party,  also 
waited.  A  young  man  whom  I  had  seen  in  society, 
but  whose  name  I  had  not  heard,  approached  me,  and 
commenced  a  harangue  of  tender  sympathy  for  my 
neglected  position,  —  so  young,  so  fair,  so  innocent ! 
Oh,  where,  where  was  the  miscreant  who  should  pro 
tect  me  ?  Why,  why  could  I  not  have  been  given 
to  one  who  could  have  appreciated  me  —  whose  life 
and  soul  would  have  been  mine,  and  more  in  the 
same  strain.  I  did  not,  in  accordance  with  stage 
proprieties,  exclaim,  "  Unhand  me,  villain  !  "  At 
first  I  affected  not  to  hear,  but  finally  rose,  crossed 
the  room,  and  joined  Miss  Lane.  She  had  not 
heard,  and  I  did  not  deem  the  incident,  although 
novel  and  most  annoying,  important  enough  for  in 
quiry.  I  did  not  know  him,  there  was  no  need  for 
investigation  —  no  call  for  pistols  and  coffee. 

A  few  days  after  I  saw  him  again  at  the  Baron  de 
Limbourg's  garden-party.  I  had  joined  with  Lord 
Lyons  and  the  Prince  de  Joinville  in  the  toast  to 
Miss  Lane,  pledged  in  the  famous  thousand-dollar- 
a-drop  "  Rose "  wine,  and  was  again  in  the  foyer 
waiting  for  my  carriage  when  my  would-be  champion 
again  approached  me.  cc  Mrs.  Pryor,"  he  said  in  calm, 

measured  tones,  "  I  am  Lieutenant  .  I  feel 

perfectly  sure  you  will  grant  my  request.  Take  my 
arm  and  go  with  me  to  speak  to  Miss  Lane." 


148  My  Day 

I  instantly  divined  his  intention.  Walking  up  to 
Miss  Harriet,  he  said  penitently:  "Miss  Lane,  you 
witnessed  my  intrusion  upon  Mrs.  Pryor  the  other 
evening  and  her  exquisite  forbearance.  In  your 
presence  I  humbly  beg  her  pardon."  He  had,  poor 
fellow,  found  General  Cass's  wines  too  potent  for  him. 
He  had  "lost  his  head"  —  that  was  all.  I  knew 
somebody  whose  head  had  been  by  no  means  a  sure  fix 
ture  without  the  excuse  of  General  Cass's  fine  wines. 
Dear  Miss  Lane,  so  thoroughly  equipped  for  her 
high  position  by  her  residence  at  the  court  of  St. 
James,  had  only  kindness  then  and  ever  for  the  wife 
of  the  young  Virginia  congressman.  Years  afterward, 
when  both  our  heads  were  gray,  we  talked  together 
of  these  amusing  little  events  in  our  Washington  life. 

Memory  lingers  upon  the  delightful  friends  who 
made  my  Washington  life  beautiful :  Miss  Lane, 
Mrs.  Douglas,  Lady  Napier,  Mrs.  Horace  Clarke 
(nee  Vanderbilt),  lovely  Mrs.  Cyrus  H.  M'Cormick, 
Mrs.  Yulee,  the  Ritchies,  the  Masons,  Secretary 
Cass's  family,  Mrs.  Canfield,  Mrs.  Ledyard,  and  my 
prime  favorite,  Lizzie  Ledyard.  Ah !  they  were 
charming  and  kind !  Even  after  social  lines  were 
strictly  drawn  between  North  and  South,  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  retain  my  Northern  friends.  All 
this  I  love  to  remember  and  would  enjoy  writing  all 
over  again,  were  it  possible  twice  to  give  time  to 
social  records.  Nor  can  I  pause  to  do  more  than 
hint  at  the  spirit  of  the  Thirty-sixth  Congress,  the 
struggles,  vituperation,  intemperate  speech,  honest 
efforts  of  the  wise  members. 

The  nomination   of  Lincoln  and   Hamlin   on   a 


My  Day  149 

purely  sectional  platform  aroused  such  excitement 
all  over  the  land  that  the  Senate  and  House  of 
Representatives  gave  themselves  entirely  to  speeches 
on  the  state  of  the  country.  Read  at  this  late  day, 
many  of  them  appear  to  be  the  high  utterances  of 
patriots,  pleading  with  each  other  for  forbearance. 
Others  exhausted  the  vocabulary  of  coarse  vitupera 
tion.  "  Nigger  thief,"  "  slave-driver  "  were  not  un 
common  words.  Others  still,  although  less  unrefined, 
were  not  less  abusive.  Newspapers  no  longer  re 
ported  a  speech  as  calm,  convincing,  logical,  or  elo 
quent —  these  were  tame  expressions.-  The  terms 
now  in  use  were :  "  a  torrent  of  scathing  denunciation," 
"withering  sarcasm,"  "crushing  invective,"  the  ora 
tor's  eyes  the  while  "  blazing  with  scorn  and  indig 
nation."  Young  members  ignored  the  salutation 
of  old  senators.  Mr.  Seward's  smile  after  such  a 
rebuff  was  maddening  !  No  opportunity  for  scorn 
ful  allusion  was  lost.  My  husband  was  probably 
the  first  congressman  to  wear  cc  the  gray,"  a  suit  of 
domestic  cloth  having  been  presented  to  him  by  his 
constituents.  Immediately  a  Northern  member  said, 
in  an  address  on  the  state  of  the  country,  "  Virginia, 
instead  of  clothing  herself  in  sheep's  wool,  had  bet 
ter  don  her  appropriate  garb  of  sackcloth  and  ashes." 
In  pathetic  contrast  to  these  scenes  were  the  rosy, 
cherubic  little  pages,  in  white  blouses  and  cambric 
collars,  who  flitted  to  and  fro,  bearing,  with  smiling 
faces,  dynamic  notes  and  messages  from  one  rep 
resentative  to  another.  They  represented  the  future 
which  these  gentlemen  were  engaged  in  wrecking  — 
for  many  of  these  boys  were  sons  of  Southern  widows, 


150  My  Day 

who  even  now,  under  the  most  genial  skies,  led 
lives  of  anxiety  and  struggle.  Thoroughly  alarmed, 
the  women  of  Washington  thronged  the  galleries  of 
the  House  and  the  Senate-chamber.  From  morn 
ing  until  the  hour  of  adjournment  we  would  sit 
spellbound,  as  one  after  another  drew  the  lurid 
picture  of  disunion  and  war. 

When  my  husband's  time  came  to  speak  on 
"  the  state  of  the  country,"  he  entreated  for  a 
pacific  settlement  of  our  controversy.  "  War,"  he 
urged,  "  war  means  widows  and  orphans."  The 
temper  of  the  speech  was  all  for  peace.  He  made 
a  noble  appeal  to  the  North  for  concession.  He 
prophesied  (the  dreamer)  that  the  South  could  never 
be  subdued  by  resort  to  arms  !  My  Northern  friends 
were  prompt  to  congratulate  me  upon  his  speech  on 
"  the  state  of  the  country,"  and  to  praise  it  with 
generous  words  as  "  calm,  free  from  vituperation, 
eloquent  in  pleading  for  peace  and  forbearance." 

The  evening  after  this  speech  was  delivered  we 
were  sitting  in  the  library,  on  the  first  floor  of  our 
home,  when  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door-bell.  The 
servants  were  in  a  distant  part  of  the  house,  and 
such  was  our  excited  state  that  I  ran  to  the  door 
and  answered  the  bell  myself.  It  was  snowing  fast, 
a  carriage  stood  at  the  door,  and  out  of  it  bundled 
a  mass  of  shawls  and  woollen  scarfs.  On  entering,  a 
man-servant  commenced  unwinding  the  bundle, 
which  proved  to  be  the  Secretary  of  State,  General 
Cass !  We  knew  not  what  to  think.  He  was 
seventy-seven  years  old.  Every  night  at  nine 
o'clock  it  was  the  custom  of  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Can- 


My  Day  151 

field,  to  wrap  him  in  flannels  and  put  him  to  bed. 
What  had  brought  him  out  at  midnight  ?  As  soon 
as  he  entered,  before  sitting  down,  he  exclaimed : 
"  Mr.  Pry  or,  I  have  been  hearing  about  secession 
for  a  long  time  —  and  I  would  not  listen.  But  now 
I  am  frightened,  sir,  I  am  frightened  !  Your  speech 
in  the  House  to-day  gives  me  some  hope.  Mr. 
Pryor !  I  crossed  the  Ohio  when  I  was  sixteen 
years  old  with  but  a  pittance  in  my  pocket,  and  this 
glorious  Union  has  made  me  what  I  am.  I  have 
risen  from  my  bed,  sir,  to  implore  you  to  do  what 
you  can  to  avert  the  disasters  which  threaten  our 
country  with  ruin." 

We  had  this  solemn  warning  to  report  to  our 
Southern  friends  who  assembled  many  an  evening 
in  our  library  :  R.  M.  T.  Hunter,  Muscoe  Garnett, 
Porcher  Miles,  L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  Boyce,  Barksdale 
of  Mississippi,  Keitt  of  South  Carolina,  with  perhaps 
some  visitors  from  the  South.  Then  Susan  would 
light  her  fires  and  show  us  the  kind  of  oysters  that 
could  please  her  "  own  white  folks,"  and  James 
would  bring  in  lemons  and  hot  water,  with  some 
choice  brand  of  old  Kentucky. 

These  were  not  convivial  gatherings.  These  men 
held  troubled  consultations  on  the  state  of  the  coun 
try,  —  the  real  meaning  and  intent  of  the  North,  the 
half-trusted  scheme  of  Judge  Douglas  to  allow  the 
territories  to  settle  for  themselves  the  vexed  ques 
tion  of  slavery  within  their  borders,  the  right  of 
peaceable  secession.  The  dawn  would  find  them  again 
and  again  with  but  one  conclusion, — they  would  stand 
together  :  "  Unum  et  commune  periclum  una  salus  !  " 


152  My  Day 

But  Holbein's  spectre  was  already  behind  the 
door,  and  had  marked  his  men  !  In  a  few  months 
the  swift  bullet  for  one  enthusiast ;  for  another  (the 
least  considered  of  them  all),  a  glorious  death  on 
the  walls  of  a  hard-won  rampart  —  he  the  first  to 
raise  his  colors  and  the  shout  of  victory  ;  for  only  one, 
or  two,  or  three,  that  doubtful  boon  of  existence  after 
the  struggle  was  all  over ;  for  all  survivors,  memo 
ries  that  made  the  next  four  years  seem  to  be  the 
sum  of  life,  —  the  only  real  life,  —  beside  which  the 
coming  years  would  be  but  a  troubled  dream. 

The  long  session  did  not  close  until  June,  and  in 
the  preceding  month  Abraham  Lincoln  was  chosen 
candidate  by  the  Republican  party  for  the  presi 
dency.  Stephen  A.  Douglas  was  the  candidate  of 
the  Democrats.  The  South  and  the  "  Old  Line 
Whigs  "  also  named  their  men.  The  words  "  irre- 

Q 

pressible  conflict "  were  much  used  during  the  ensu 
ing  campaign. 

The  authorship  of  these  words  has  always  been 
credited  to  Mr.  Seward.  Their  true  origin  may  be 
found  in  the  address  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  delivered  at 
Cincinnati,  Ohio,  in  September,  1859.  On  page 
262  of  the  volume  published  by  Follett,  Foster,  and 
Company  in  1860,  entitled  "Political  Debates  be 
tween  Hon.  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Hon.  Stephen 
A.  Douglas,"  may  be  found  the  following  extract 
from  Mr.  Lincoln's  speech  :  — 

"  I  have  alluded  in  the  beginning  of  these  remarks  to  the 
fact  that  Judge  Douglas  has  made  great  complaint  of  my 
having  expressed  the  opinion  that  this  government  c  can 
not  endure  permanently  half  slave  and  half  free.'  He  has 


My  Day  153 

complained  of  Seward  for  using  different  language,  and 
declaring  that  there  is  an  '  irrepressible  conflict '  between 
the  principles  of  free  and  slave  labor.  ^A  voice,  u  He  says 
it  is  not  original  with  Seward.  That  is  original  with  Lin 
coln."]  I  will  attend  to  that  immediately,  sir.  Since  that 
time  Hickman  of  Pennsylvania  expressed  the  same  senti 
ment.  He  has  never  denounced  Mr.  Hickman ;  why  ? 
There  is  a  little  chance,  notwithstanding  that  opinion  in 
the  mouth  of  Hickman,  that  he  may  yet  be  a  Douglas  man. 
That  is  the  difference  !  It  is  not  unpatriotic  to  hold  that 
opinion,  if  a  man  is  a  Douglas  man. 

"  But  neither  I,  nor  Seward,  nor  Hickman  is  entitled  to 
the  enviable  or  unenviable  distinction  of  having  first  ex 
pressed  that  idea.  That  same  idea  was  expressed  by  the 
Richmond  Enquirer  in  Virginia,  in  1856,  quite  two  years  before 
it  was  expressed  by  the  first  of  us.  And  while  Douglas  was 
pluming  himself  that  in  his  conflict  with  my  humble  self,  last 
year,  he  had  '  squelched  out '  that  fatal  heresy,  as  he  de 
lighted  to  call  it,  and  had  suggested  that  if  he  only  had  had 
a  chance  to  be  in  New  York  and  meet  Seward  he  would 
have  '  squelched '  it  there  also,  it  never  occurred  to  him  to 
breathe  a  word  against  Pryor.  I  don't  think  that  you  can 
discover  that  Douglas  ever  talked  of  going  to  Virginia  to 
c  squelch '  out  that  idea  there.  No.  More  than  that. 
That  same  Roger  A.  Pryor  was  brought  to  Washington 
City  and  made  the  editor  of  the  par  excellence  Douglas 
paper,  after  making  use  of  that  expression,  which  in  us  is 
so  unpatriotic  and  heretical." 

On  November  6,  1860,  Mr.  Lincoln  was  elected 
President  of  the  United  States.  On  the  following 
December  20  we  heard  that  South  Carolina  had 
seceded  from  the  Union.  We  were  all,  at  the  time 
the  news  arrived,  attending  the  wedding  of  Mr. 
Bouligny  and  Miss  Parker.  The  ceremony  had 


154  My  Day 

taken  place,  and  I  was  standing  behind  the  Presi 
dent's  chair  when  a  commotion  in  the  hall  arrested 
his  attention.  He  looked  at  me  over  his  shoulder 
and  asked  if  I  supposed  the  house  was  on  fire. 

"  I  will  inquire  the  cause,  Mr.  President,"  I  said. 
I  went  out  at  the  nearest  door,  and  there  in  the  en 
trance  hall  I  found  Mr.  Lawrence  Keitt,  member 
from  South  Carolina,  leaping  in  the  air,  shaking  a 
paper  over  his  head,  and  exclaiming,  "Thank  God! 
Oh,  thank  God  ! "  I  took  hold  of  him  and  said  : 
"  Mr.  Keitt,  are  you  crazy  ?  The  President  hears 
you,  and  wants  to  know  what's  the  matter." 

"  Oh  !  "  he  cried,  "  South  Carolina  has  seceded  ! 
Here's  the  telegram.  I  feel  like  a  boy  let  out  from 
school." 

I  returned,  and  bending  over  Mr.  Buchanan's 
chair,  said  in  a  low  voice:  "It  appears,  Mr.  Presi 
dent,  that  South  Carolina  has  seceded  from  the 
Union.  Mr.  Keitt  has  a  telegram."  He  looked 
at  me,  stunned  for  a  moment.  Falling  back  and 
grasping  the  arms  of  his  chair,  he  whispered, 
"  Madam,  might  I  beg  you  to  have  my  carriage 
called?"  I  met  his  secretary  and  sent  him  in 
without  explanation,  and  myself  saw  that  his  carriage 
was  at  the  door  before  I  reentered  the  room.  I 
then  found  my  husband,  who  was  already  cornered 
with  Mr.  Keitt,  and  we  called  our  own  carriage  and 
drove  to  Judge  Douglas's.  There  was  no  more 
thought  of  bride,  bridegroom,  wedding-cake,  or 
wedding  breakfast. 

This  was  the  tremendous  event  which  was  to 
change  all  our  lives,  —  to  give  us  poverty  for  riches, 


My  Day  155 

mutilation  and  wounds  for  strength  and  health, 
obscurity  and  degradation  for  honor  and  distinction, 
exile  and  loneliness  for  inherited  homes  and  friends, 
pain  and  death  for  happiness  and  life. 

Apprehension  was  felt  lest  the  new  President's 
inaugural  might  be  the  occasion  of  rioting,  if  not  of 
violence.  We  Southerners  were  advised  to  send 
women  and  children  out  of  the  city.  Hastily  packing 
my  personal  and  household  belongings  to  be  sent 
after  me,  I  took  my  little  boys,  with  their  faithful 
nurse,  Eliza  Page,  on  board  the  steamer  to  Acquia 
Creek,  and,  standing  on  deck  as  long  as  I  could  see 
the  dome  of  the  Capitol,  commenced  my  journey 
homeward.  My  husband  remained  behind,  and 
kept  his  seat  in  Congress  until  Mr.  Lincoln's  inaug 
uration.  He  described  that  mournful  day  to  me, — 
differing  so  widely  from  the  happy  installation  of 
Mr.  Pierce ;  "  o'er  all  there  hung  a  shadow  and  a 
fear."  Every  one  was  oppressed  by  it,  and  no  one 
more  than  the  doomed  President  himself. 

We  were  reunited  a  few  weeks  afterward  at  our 
father's  house  in  Petersburg ;  and  in  a  short  time 
my  young  congressman  had  become  my  young 
colonel  —  and  congressman  as  well,  for  as  soon  as 
Virginia  seceded  he  was  elected  to  the  Provisional 
Congress  of  the  Confederate  States  of  America,  and 
was  commissioned  colonel  by  Governor  Letcher. 

We  bade  adieu  to  the  bright  days,  —  the  balls 
(sometimes  three  in  one  evening),  the  round  of  visits, 
the  levees,  the  charming  "  at  homes."  The  setting 
sun  of  such  a  day  should  pillow  itself  on  golden 
clouds,  bright  harbingers  of  a  morning  of  beauty  and 


156  My  Day 

happiness.  Alas,  alas !  "  whom  the  gods  destroy 
they  first  infatuate." 

The  fate  of  Virginia  was  decided  April  15,  when 
President  Lincoln  demanded  troops  for  the  subjuga 
tion  of  the  seceding  states  of  the  South.  The  temper 
of  Governor  Letcher  of  Virginia  was  precisely  in  ac 
cord  with  the  spirit  that  prompted  the  answer  of 
Governor  Magoffin  of  Kentucky  to  a  similar  call  for 
state  militia,  "  Kentucky  will  furnish  no  troops  for 
the  wicked  purpose  of  subduing  her  sister  Southern 
states  !  "  Until  this  call  of  the  President,  Virginia 
had  been  extremely  averse  from  secession,  and  even 
though  she  deemed  it  within  her  rights  to  leave  the 
Union,  she  did  not  wish  to  pledge  herself  to  join 
the  Confederate  States  of  the  South.  Virginia  was 
the  Virginian's  country.  The  common  people  were 
wont  to  speak  of  her  as  "  The  Old  Mother,"  — "  the 
mother  of  us  all,"  a  mother  so  honored  and  loved 
that  her  brood  of  children  must  be  noble  and  true. 

Her  sons  had  never  forgotten  her !  She  had 
fought  nobly  in  the  Revolution  and  had  afterward 
surrendered,  for  the  common  good,  her  magnificent 
territory.  Had  she  retained  this  vast  dominion, 
she  could  now  have  dictated  to  all  the  other  states. 
She  gave  it  up  from  a  pure  spirit  of  patriotism,  — 
that  there  might  be  the  fraternity  which  could  not 
exist  without  equality, — and  in  surrendering  it  she 
had  reserved  for  herself  the  right  to  withdraw  from 
the  confederation  whenever  she  should  deem  it 
expedient  for  her  own  welfare.  There  were  lead 
ing  spirits  who  thought  the  hour  had  come  when 
she  might  demand  her  right.  She  was  not  on  a 


My  Day  157 

plane  with  the  other  states  of  the  Union.  "Vir 
ginia,  New  York,  and  Massachusetts  had  expressly 
reserved  the  right  to  withdraw  from  the  Union,  and 
explicitly  disclaimed  the  right  or  power  to  bind  the 
hands  of  posterity  by  any  form  of  government 
whatever."1 

A  strong  party  was  the  "  Union  Party,"  sternly 
resolved  against  secession,  willing  to  run  the  risks  of 
fighting  within  the  Union  for  the  rights  of  the  state. 
This  spirit  was  so  strong  that  any  hint  of  secession 
had  been  met  with  angry  defiance.  A  Presbyterian 
clergyman  had  ventured,  in  his  morning  sermon,  a 
hint  that  Virginia  might  need  her  sons  for  defence, 
when  a  gray-haired  elder  left  the  church,  and  turn 
ing  at  the  door,  shouted,  "  Traitor  !  "  This  was  in 
Petersburg,  near  the  birthplace  of  General  Winfield 
Scott. 

And  still  another  party  was  the  enthusiastic  seces 
sion  party,  resolved  upon  resistance  to  coercion  ;  the 
men  who  could  believe  nothing  good  of  the  North, 
should  interests  of  that  section  conflict  with  those 
of  the  South  ;  who  cherished  the  bitterest  resentments 
for  all  the  sneers  and  insults  in  Congress ;  who, 
like  the  others,  adored  their  own  state  and  were 
ready  and  willing  to  die  in  her  defence.  Strange 
to  say,  this  was  the  predominating  spirit  all  through 
the  country,  in  rural  districts  as  well  as  in  the  small 
towns  and  the  larger  cities.  It  seemed  to  be  born 
all  at  once  in  every  breast  as  soon  as  Lincoln  de 
manded  the  soldiers. 

When  it  was    disclosed    that  a  majority    of  the 

*  Life  of  Joseph  E.  Johnston,  by  Bradley  T.  Johnson,  p.  ai. 


158  My  Day 

Virginia  Convention  opposed  taking  the  state  out 
of  the  Union,  the  secessionists  became  greatly 
alarmed  ;  for  they  knew  that  without  the  border 
states,  of  which  Virginia  was  the  leader,  the  cotton 
states  would  be  speedily  crushed.  They  were 
positively  certain,  however,  that  in  the  event  of 
actual  hostilities  Virginia  would  unite  with  her 
Southern  associates.  Accordingly,  it  was  determined 
to  bring  a  popular  pressure  to  bear  upon  the  govern 
ment  at  Montgomery  to  make  an  assault  on  Fort 
Sumter.  To  that  end  my  husband  went  to  Charleston, 
and  delivered  to  an  immense  and  enthusiastic  audience 
a  most  impassioned  and  vehement  speech,  urging 
the  Southern  troops  to  "  strike  a  blow/'  and  assur 
ing  them  that  in  case  of  conflict,  Virginia  would 
secede  "  within  an  hour  by  Shrewsbury  clock." 
The  blow  was  struck ;  Mr.  Lincoln  called  upon 
Virginia  for  a  quota  of  troops  to  subdue  the  rebel 
lion,  and  the  state  immediately  passed  an  ordinance 
of  secession.  Here,  in  substance,  is  my  husband's 
Charleston  speech,  as  reported  at  the  time  by  the 
New  York  Tribune :  — 

u  Mr.  Roger  A.  Pryor,  called  by  South  Carolina  papers 
the  '  eloquent  young  tribune  of  the  South,'  was  on  Wednes 
day  evening  serenaded  at  Charleston.  In  response  to 
the  compliment  he  made  some  remarks,  among  which  were 
the  following :  c  Gentlemen,  for  my  part,  if  Abraham  Lin 
coln  and  Hannibal  Hamlin  were  to  abdicate  their  office  to 
morrow,  and  were  to  give  to  me  a  blank  sheet  of  paper 
whereupon  to  write  the  conditions  of  reannexation  to  the 
Union,  I  would  scorn  the  privilege  of  putting  the  terms  upon 
paper.  [Cheers. ,]  And  why  ?  Because  our  grievance  has 


My  Day  159 

not  been  with  reference  to  the  insufficiency  of  the  guaran 
tees,  but  the  unutterable  perfidy  of  the  guarantors  ;  and  in 
asmuch  as  they  would  not  fulfil  the  stipulations  of  the  old 
Constitution,  much  less  will  they  carry  out  the  guarantees 
of  a  better  Constitution  looking  to  the  interests  of  the 
South.  Therefore,  I  invoke  you  to  give  no  countenance 
to  any  idea  of  reconstruction.  \_A  voice,  u  We  don't  intend 
to  do  anything  of  the  kind."]  It  is  the  fear  of  that  which 
is  embarrassing  us  in  Virginia,  for  all  there  say  if  we  are  re 
duced  to  the  dilemma  of  an  alternative,  they  will  espouse 
the  cause  of  the  South  against  the  interests  of  the  Northern 
Confederacy.  If  you  have  any  ideas  of  reconstruction,  I 
pray  you  annihilate  them.  Give  forth  to  the  world  that 
under  no  circumstances  whatever  will  South  Carolina  stay 
in  political  association  with  the  Northern  states.  I  under 
stand  since  I  have  been  in  Charleston  that  there  is  some 
little  apprehension  of  Virginia  in  this  great  exigency.  Now 
I  am  not  speaking  for  Virginia  officially  ;  I  wish  to  God  I 
were,  for  I  would  put  her  out  of  the  Union  before  twelve 
o'clock  to-night.  [Laughter. ~\  But  I  bid  you  dismiss  your 
apprehensions  as  to  the  old  Mother  of  Presidents.  Give 
the  old  lady  time.  [Laughter. ~\  She  cannot  move  with 
the  agility  of  some  of  the  younger  daughters.  She  is  a 
little  rheumatic.  Remember  she  must  be  pardoned  for  de 
ferring  somewhat  to  the  exigencies  of  opposition  in  the 
Pan  Handle  of  Virginia.  Remember  the  personnel  of  the 
convention  to  whom  she  intrusted  her  destinies.  But 
making  these  reservations,  I  assure  you  that  just  so  certain 
as  to-morrow's  sun  will  rise  upon  us,  just  so  certain  will 
Virginia  be  a  member  of  the  Southern  Confederation.  We 
will  put  her  in  if  you  but  strike  a  blow.  [Cheers. .]  I  do  not 
say  anything  to  produce  an  effect  upon  the  military  opera 
tions  of  your  authorities,  for  I  know  no  more  about  them 
than  a  spinster.  I  only  repeat,  if  you  wish  Virginia  to  be 
with  you,  strike  a  blow  !  '  " 


160  My  Day 

The  effect,  however,  of  the  speech  was  not  merely 
the  adoption  of  the  ordinance  of  secession  by  Vir 
ginia.  In  precipitating  the  assault  upon  Sumter 
the  speech  had  another  and  now  little  known 
consequence. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  when  only  South 
Carolina  had  seceded,  the  Republican  party,  with  the 
assent  of  the  President-elect,  had  proffered  to  the 
South  a  compromise  in  these  terms  :  "  The  Consti 
tution  shall  never  be  altered  so  as  to  authorize  Con 
gress  to  abolish  or  interfere  with  slavery  in  the  states." 
Of  course,  no  Southern  state  would  oppose  a  propo 
sition  which  for  the  first  time  made  slavery  eo  nomine 
an  institution  under  federal  protection,  and  guar 
anteed  it  perpetual  existence  in  the  slave-holding 
states.  Equally  evident  was  it  that  a  measure  sup 
ported  by  Lincoln  and  the  entire  Republican  party 
would  prevail  in  every  Northern  state.  The  mere 
pendency,  then,  of  such  an  overture,  if  not  intercepted 
in  its  passage  by  an  act  of  hostility  between  the 
seceded  states  and  the  federal  government,  would 
have  certainly  bound  the  border  states  to  the  Union, 
and  have  insured  the  miscarriage  of  the  secession 
movement. 

Had  not  the  attack  on  Sumter  been  made  at  the 
critical  moment,  the  Republican  compromise,  as 
already  intimated,  would  have  prevailed,  and  slavery 
have  been  imbedded  in  the  Constitution  and  fastened 
upon  the  country  beyond  the  chance  of  removal, — 
except  by  revolution,  or  the  voluntary  renunciation 
of  its  cherished  interests  by  the  slave-holding  South. 

1  Rhodes's  "History  of  the  United  States,"  III,  p.  175. 


My  Day  161 

The  latter  alternative  is  an  inconceivable  possibility  ; 
and  hence,  but  for  the  "blow"  which  prompted 
hostilities  and  prevented  a  pacific  solution,  slavery 
would  exist  to-day  as  a  recognized  institution  of  the 
republic. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  this  consummation  was 
desired  or  anticipated  by  the  Virginia  secessionist, 
but  affirm  only  that  he  "  builded  better  than  he 
knew,"  and  that  but  for  his  act  the  nation  would 
not  now  be  free  from  the  reproach  of  human  slavery. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  "  overt  act,"  for  which  everybody  looked, 
had  been  really  the  reenforcement  by  federal 
troops  of  the  fort  in  Charleston  harbor. 
When  Fort  Sumter  was  reduced  by  Beauregard, 
"the  fight  was  on."  My  husband,  with  other 
gentlemen,  was  deputed  by  General  Beauregard  to 
demand  the  surrender  of  the  fort,  and  in  case  of 
refusal  which  he  foresaw,  to  direct  the  commandant 
of  the  battery,  Johnson,  to  open  fire.  When  the 
order  was  delivered  to  the  commandant,  he  invited 
my  husband  to  fire  the  first  shot ;  but  this  honor 
my  husband  declined,  and  instead  suggested  the 
venerable  Edmund  RufHn,  an  intense  secessionist, 
for  that  service.  It  was  the  prevalent  impression  at 
the  time  that  Mr.  Ruffin  did  "  fire  the  first  gun  "  ; 
at  all  events  he  fired,  to  him,  the  last ;  for  on  hear 
ing  of  Lee's  surrender,  Cato-like,  he  destroyed 
himself. 

Fort  Sumter  was  reduced  on  April  12,  and  Vir 
ginia  was  in  a  wild  state  of  excitement  and  confusion. 
On  May  23  Virginia  ratified  an  ordinance  of  seces 
sion,  and  on  the  early  morning  of  May  24  the 
federal  soldiers,  under  the  Virginian,  General  Win- 
field  Scott,  crossed  the  Potomac  River  and  occupied 
Arlington  Heights  and  the  city  of  Alexandria.  "The 
invasion  of  Virginia,  the  pollution  of  her  sacred  soil," 
as  it  was  termed,  called  forth  a  vigorous  proclama- 

162 


My  Day  163 

tion  from  her  governor  and  a  cry  of  rage  from  her 
press.  General  Beauregard  issued  a  fierce  procla 
mation,  tending  to  fire  the  hearts  of  the  Virginians 
with  indignation.  "  A  reckless  and  unprincipled 
host,"  he  declared,  "  has  invaded  your  soil,"  etc. 
Virginia  needed  no  such  stimulus.  The  First, 
Second,  and  Third  Virginia  were  immediately  mus 
tered  into  service,  and  my  husband  was  colonel  of  the 
Third  Virginia  Infantry.  He  was  ordered  to  Nor 
folk  with  his  regiment  to  protect  the  seaboard.  I 
was  proud  of  his  colonelship,  and  much  exercised 
because  he  had  no  shoulder-straps.  I  undertook  to 
embroider  them  myself.  We  had  not  then  decided 
upon  the  star  for  our  colonels'  insignia,  and  I  sup 
posed  he  would  wear  the  eagle  like  all  the  colonels 
I  had  ever  known.  No  embroidery  bullion  was  to 
be  had,  but  I  bought  heavy  bullion  fringe,  cut  it  in 
lengths,  and  made  eagles,  probably  of  some  extinct 
species,  for  the  like  were  unknown  in  Audubon's 
time,  and  have  not  since  been  discovered.  How 
ever,  they  were  accepted,  admired,  and,  what  is 
worse,  worn. 

My  resolution  was  taken.  I  steadily  withstood 
all  the  entreaties  of  my  friends,  and  determined  to 
follow  my  husband's  regiment  through  the  war.  I 
did  not  ask  his  permission.  I  would  give  no 
trouble.  I  should  be  only  a  help  to  his  sick  men 
and  his  wounded.  I  busied  myself  in  preparing  a 
camp  equipage  —  a  field  stove  with  a  rotary  chimney, 
ticks  for  bedding,  to  be  filled  with  straw  or  hay  or 
leaves,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  a  camp  chest  of  tin 
utensils,  strong  blankets,  etc.  A  tent  could  always 


164  My  Day 

be  had  from  Major  Shepard,  our  quartermaster. 
News  soon  came  that  the  Third  Virginia  had  been 
ordered  to  Smithfield.  McClellan  was  looking  to 
ward  the  peninsula,  and  Major-general  Joseph  E. 
Johnston  was  keeping  an  eye  on  McClellan. 

When  I  set  forth  on  what  my  father  termed  my 
"  wild-goose  chase,"  I  found  the  country  literally 
alive  with  troops.  The  train  on  which  I  travelled 
was  switched  off  again  and  again  to  allow  them  to 
pass.  My  little  boys  had  the  time  of  their  lives, 
cheering  the  soldiers  and  picnicking  at  short  inter 
vals  all  day.  But  I  had  hardly  reached  Smithfield 
before  the  good  people  of  the  town  forcibly  took 
my  camp  equipage  from  me,  stored  it,  and  installed 
me  in  great  comfort  in  a  private  house.  My  colo 
nel  soon  left  me  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Confederate 
Congress  along  with  Hon.  William  C.  Rives  and 
others  of  our  old  friends.  I  was  left  alone  at  Smith- 
field,  not  la  fille  du  regiment :,  but  la  mere!  I 
heard  daily  from  all  the  sick  men  in  winter  quarters, 
and  ministered  to  them  according  to  my  ability. 
The  camp  fascinated  me.  Picturesque  huts  were 
built  of  pine  with  the  bark  on,  and  in  clearings  here 
and  there  brilliant  fires  of  the  resinous  wood  were 
constantly  burning.  I  knew  many  of  the  officers, 
and  from  them  soon  learned  that  the  deadly  foe  at 
home  was  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  foe  in  front. 
Smithfield  was  noted  for  its  Virginia  hams,  its  fine 
fish,  its  mullets  that  would  leap  into  the  fisherman's 
boat  while  he  lazily  enjoyed  his  brier-root,  its  great 
sugary  "  yams/'  as  the  red  sweet-potato  was  called. 
It  was  noted  as  well  for  the  excellence  of  its  brandy. 


My  Day  165 

My  colonel  issued  stern  orders  that  no  intoxicat 
ing  liquors  were  to  be  sold  to  his  soldiers.  Every 
man  who  went  on  leave  to  the  town  was  inspected 
on  his  return.  But  drunken  men  gave  trouble  in 
the  camp,  and  it  was  discovered  that  brandy  was 
smuggled  in  the  barrels  of  the  muskets,  and  in  yams, 
hollowed  out  and  innocently  reposing  at  the  bottom 
of  baskets. 

Thereupon  one  morning  Smithfield  was  in  an 
uproar,  negroes  screaming  and  running  about  with 
pails  to  be  filled,  tipsy  pigs  staggering  along  the 
streets.  A  squad  of  soldiers  had  been  ordered  out 
from  camp,  had  entered  every  store,  and  emptied 
the  contents  of  every  cask  into  the  gutters.  A 
drunken  brawl  had  occurred  in  camp,  and  one 
soldier  had  killed  another! 

The  soldier  was  arrested  and  imprisoned.  Later 
the  prisoner  was  tried  and  acquitted,  —  his  own 
colonel  argued  in  his  defence,  —  and  completely 
sobered,  he  made  a  good  soldier.  The  prompt  act 
of  the  commanding  officer  was  salutary.  There  was  no 
more  trouble  —  no  more  muskets  loaded  with  in 
flammable  stuff,  no  more  yams  flavored  with  brandy. 

When  the  colonel  was  attending  the  session  of 
Congress,  Theo,  not  yet  ten  years  old,  was  often 
mounted  on  a  barrel,  in  his  little  linen  blouse,  to 
drill  the  Third  Virginia !  He  had  studied  military 
tactics,  Hardee  and  Jomini,  with  his  father.  Lying 
before  me  as  I  write  is  his  own  copy  of  Jomini's 
"  L'Art  de  la  Guerre,"  in  which  he  proudly  wrote  his 
name.  An  event  of  personal  interest  was  the  presen 
tation  to  the  colonel  of  a  blue  silken  flag,  made  by 


1 66  My  Day 

the  ladies  of  Petersburg.  The  party  came  down  the 
river  in  a  steamboat,  and  I  have  before  my  reminis 
cent  eyes  an  interesting  picture  of  my  colonel,  as 
he  stood  with  his  long  hair  waving  in  a  stiff  breeze, 
listening  to  the  brave  things  the  dear  women's 
spokesman  said  of  their  devotion  to  him  and  to  their 
country.  This  flag  is  somewhere,  to-day,  in  that 
country,  but  not  in  the  home  of  the  man  who  had 
earned  and  owned  it.  It  is  of  heavy  blue  silk ;  on 
one  side  the  arms  of  the  state  of  Virginia,  on  the 
other  Justice  with  the  scales.  In  the  upper  left- 
hand  corner  is  the  word  "  Williamsburg,"  room 
being  left  for  the  many  other  battles  in  store  for 
the  young  colonel. 

Things  were  going  on  beautifully  with  us  when  I 
one  day  received  a  peremptory  official  order  to  change 
my  base  —  to  leave  Smithfield  next  morning  before 
daybreak  !  The  orderly  who  brought  it  to  me 
looked  intensely  surprised  when  I  calmly  said: 
"  Tell  the  colonel  it  is  impossible !  I  can't  get 
ready  by  to-morrow  to  leave." 

"  Madam,"  said  the  man,  gravely,  "  it  is  none  of 
my  business,  but  when  Colonel  Pryor  gives  an 
order,  it  is  wise  to  be  a  strict  constructionist." 

My  colonel  had  returned  suddenly ;  when  I,  in 
an  open  wagon,  was  on  my  way  next  morning  at 
sunrise  to  the  nearest  depot,  he  and  his  men  were 
en  route  to  the  peninsula.  They  gave  McClellan 
battle  May  5  at  Williamsburg,  —  "Pryor  and 
Anderson  in  front,"  —  captured  four  hundred  un- 
wounded  prisoners,  ten  colors,  and  twelve  field- 
pieces,  slept  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  marched  off 


My  Day  167 

next  morning  at  their  convenience.  My  colonel 
personally  ministered  to  the  wounded  prisoners,  and 
General  McClellan  recognizes  this  service  in  his 
"  own  story."  After  this  he  was  promoted,  and  my 
bristling  eagles  retired  before  the  risen  stars  of  the 
brigadier-general . 

The  news  of  his  probable  promotion  reached  me 
at  the  Exchange  Hotel  in  Richmond,  whither  I  had 
gone  that  I  might  be  near  headquarters  and  thus 
learn  the  earliest  tidings  from  the  peninsula.  There 
he  joined  me  for  one  day.  We  read  with  keen  in 
terest  the  announcement  in  the  papers  that  his  name 
had  been  sent  in  by  the  President  for  promotion. 
Mrs.  Davis  held  a  reception  at  the  Spotswood  Hotel 
on  the  evening  following  this  announcement,  and 
we  availed  ourselves  of  the  opportunity  to  make  our 
respects  to  her. 

A  crowd  gathered  before  the  Exchange  to  con 
gratulate  my  husband,  and  learning  that  he  had 
gone  to  the  Spotswood,  repaired  thither,  and  with 
shouts  and  cheers  called  him  out  for  a  speech.  This 
was  very  embarrassing,  and  he  fled  to  a  corner  of 
the  drawing-room  and  hid  behind  a  screen  of  plants. 
I  was  standing  near  the  President,  trying  to  hold  his 
attention  by  remarks  on  the  weather  and  kindred 
subjects  of  a  thrilling  nature,  when  a  voice  from  the 
street  called  out :  "  Pryor  !  General  Pryor  !  "  I 
could  endure  the  suspense  no  longer,  and  asked 
tremblingly,  "Is  this  true,  Mr.  President?"  Mr. 
Davis  looked  at  me  with  a  benevolent  smile  and 
said,  "  I  have  no  reason,  madam,  to  doubt  it,  except 
that  I  saw  it  this  morning  in  the  papers;"  and  Mrs. 


1 68  My  Day 

Davis  at  once  summoned  the  bashful  colonel : 
"  What  are  you  doing  lying  there  perdu  behind  the 
geraniums  ?  Come  out  and  take  your  honors." 

Following  fast  upon  the  battle  after  which  General 
Johnston  ordered  "  Williamsburg  "  to  be  painted  on 
his  banner,  my  general  fought  the  battle  of  "Fair 
Oaks"  or  "  Seven  Pines"  —and  in  June  the  Seven 
Days*  battle  around  Richmond.  The  story  of  these 
desperate  battles  has  been  told  many  times  by  the 
generals  who  fought  them.  "  Pryor's  Brigade  "  was 
in  the  front  often  ;  in  the  thick  of  the  fight  always. 
I  myself  saw  my  husband  draw  his  sword,  and  give 
the  word  of  command  "Head  of  column  to  the 
right"  as  he  entered  the  first  of  these  battles. 

I  spent  the  time  nursing  the  wounded  in  Kent 
and  Paine's  Hospital  in  Richmond,  and  have  told 
elsewhere  the  pathetic  story  of  my  experience  as 
hospital  nurse.  For  the  needs  of  that  stern  hour 
my  dear  general  gave  himself — and  his  wife  gave 
herself.  Every  linen  garment  I  possessed,  except 
one  change,  every  garment  of  cotton  fabric,  all  my 
table-linen,  all  my  bed-linen,  even  the  chintz  covers 
for  furniture,  — all  were  torn  into  strips  and  rolled 
for  bandages  for  the  soldiers'  wounds. 

When  the  fight  was  over,  a  gray,  haggard,  dust- 
covered  soldier  entered  my  room,  and  throwing  him 
self  upon  the  couch,  gave  way  to  the  anguish  of  his 
heart  —  "My  men!  My  men!  They  are  almost 
all  dead ! " 

Thousands  of  Confederate  soldiers  were  killed  or 
wounded.  Richmond  was  saved !  "  I  am  in 
hopes,"  wrote  General  McClellan  to  his  Secretary  of 


My  Day  169 

War,  "  the  enemy  is  as  completely  worn  out  as  I 
am." 

He  was  !  General  Lee  realized  that  his  men  must 
have  rest.  My  husband  was  allowed  a  few  days'  res 
pite  from  duty.  Almost  without  a  pause  he  had 
fought  the  battles  of  Williamsburg,  Seven  Pines, 
Mechanicsville,  Gaines's  Mill,  Frazier's  Farm,  and 
Malvern  Hill.  He  had  won  his  promotion  early, 
but  he  had  lost  the  soldiers  he  had  led,  the  loved 
commander  who  appreciated  him,  had  seen  old 
schoolmates  and  friends  fall  by  his  side,  —  the  dear 
fellow,  George  Loyal  Gordon,  who  had  been  his  best 
man  at  our  wedding,  —  old  college  comrades,  valued 
old  neighbors. 

Opposed  to  him  in  battle,  then  and  after,  were 
men  who  in  after  years  avowed  themselves  his  warm 
friends,  —  General  Hancock,  General  Slocum,  Gen 
eral  Butterfield,  General  Sickles,  General  Fitz-John 
Porter,  General  McClellan,  and  General  Grant. 
They  had  fought  loyally  under  opposing  banners,  and 
from  time  to  time,  as  the  war  went  on,  one  and  an 
other  had  been  defeated  ;  but  over  all,  and  through 
all,  their  allegiance  had  been  given  to  a  banner  that 
has  never  surrendered,  —  the  standard  of  the  uni 
versal  brotherhood  of  all  true  men. 

I  cannot  omit  a  passing  tribute  to  the  heroic 
fortitude  and  devotion  of  the  Richmond  women  in 
the  time  of  their  greatest  trial.  These  were  the 
delicate,  beautiful  women  I  had  so  admired  when  I 
lived  among  them.  Not  once  did  they  spare  them 
selves,  or  complain,  or  evince  weakness,  or  give  way 
to  despair.  The  city  had  "  no  language  but  a  cry." 


1 70  My  Day 

Two  processions  unceasingly  passed  along  the  streets ; 
one  the  wounded  borne  from  the  battlefield ;  the 
other  the  cheering  men  going  to  take  their  places 
at  the  front.  Within  the  hospitals  all  that  devotion 
could  suggest,  of  unselfish  service,  gentle  ministra 
tion,  encouragement,  was  done  by  the  dear  women. 
Every  house  was  open  for  the  sick  and  wounded. 
Oh,  but  I  cannot  again  tell  it  all !  Sacredly,  ten 
derly  I  remember,  but  to-day  it  seems  so  cruel,  so 
unnecessary,  so  wicked  !  I  cannot  dwell  upon  it ! 

One  beautiful  memory  is  of  the  unfailing  kindness 
and  loyalty  of  the  negroes.  In  the  hospitals,  in  the 
camps,  in  our  own  houses,  they  faithfully  sympa 
thized  with  us  and  helped  us.  Not  only  at  this 
time,  but  all  during  the  war,  they  behaved  admir 
ably.  The  most  intense  secessionist  I  ever  knew 
was  my  general's  man,  John.  Early  in  the  day  the 
black  man  elected  for  himself  an  attitude  of  quies 
cence  as  to  politics,  and  addressed  himself  to  the 
present  need  for  self-preservation. 

It  was  "  Domingo,"  one  of  the  cooks  of  our 
brigade  at  Williamsburg,  that  originated  the  humor 
ous  description  of  a  negro's  self-appraisement  and 
sensations  in  battle,  so  unblushingly  quoted  after 
ward  by  a  certain  "  Caesar"  in  northern  Virginia. 
A  shell  had  entered  the  domain  of  pots  and  kettles, 
and  created  what  Domingo  termed  a  "  clatteration." 
He  at  once  started  for  the  rear. 

"  What's  de  matter,  Mingo  ? "  asked  a  fellow- 
servant,  "  whar  you  gwine  wid  such  a  hurrification  ?  " 

"  I  gwine  to  git  out  o'  trouble — dar  whar  I  gwine  ! 
Dar's  too  much  powder  in  dem  big  things.  Dis 


My  Day  171 

chile  ain't  gwine  bu'n  hisself !  An'  dar's  dem  Min 
nie  bullets,  too,  comin'  frew  de  a'r,  singin' :  ( Whar 
is  you  ?  Whar  is  you  ? '  I  ain't  gwine  stop  an' 
tell  'em  whar  I  is !  I'se  a  twenty-two-hundurd- 
dollar  nigger,  an'  I'se  gwine  tek  keer  o'  what 
b'longs  to  marster,  I  is  ! " 

A  story  was  related  by  a  Northern  writer  of  an 
interview  with  a  negro  who  had  run  the  blockade 
and  entered  the  service  of  a  Federal  officer.  He 
was  met  on  board  a  steamer,  after  the  battle  of 
Fort  Donelson,  on  his  way  to  the  rear,  and  ques 
tioned  in  regard  to  his  experience  of  war. 

"  Were  you  in  the  fight  ?  " 

"  Had  a  little  taste  of  it,  sah." 

"Stood  your  ground,  of  course." 

"No,  sah!     I  run."' 

"  Not  at  the  first  fire  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sah !  an'  would  a'  run  sooner  ef  I  knowed 
it  was  a-comin' !  " 

"Why,  that  wasn't  very  creditable  to  your  cour 
age,  was  it  ?  " 

"  Dat  ain't  in  my  line,  sah, — cookin's  my  per- 
feshun." 

"  But  have  you  no  regard  for  your  reputa 
tion?" 

"  Refutation's  nothin'  by  de  side  o'  life." 

"  But  you  don't  consider  your  life  worth  more 
than  other  people's,  do  you  ? " 

"  Hit's  wuth  mo'  to  me,  sah  !  " 

"Then  you  must  value  it  very  highly." 

"Yas,  sah,  I  does,  —  mo'n  all  dis  wuld  !  Mo' 
dan  a  million  o'  dollars,  sah.  What  would  dat  be 


172  My  Day 

wuth  to  a  man  wid  de  bref  out  o'  'im  ?  Self-per- 
serbashun  is  de  fust  law  wid  me,  sah  !  " 

"  But  why  should  you  act  upon  a  different  rule 
from  other  men  ?  " 

"  'Cause  diffunt  man  set  diffunt  value  'pon  his 
life.  Mine  ain't  in  de  market." 

"  Well,  if  all  soldiers  were  like  you,  traitors 
might  have  broken  up  the  government  without 


resistance." 


"  Dat's  so  !  Dar  wouldn't  'a'  been  no  hep  fer  it. 
But  I  don't  put  my  life  in  de  scale  against  no  gub- 
berment  on  dis  yearth.  No  gubberment  gwine  pay 
me  ef  I  loss  mehsef." 

"  Well,  do  you  think  you  would  have  been  much 
missed  if  you  had  been  killed  ?  " 

"  Maybe  not,  sah !  A  daid  white  man  ain' 
much  use  to  dese  yere  sogers,  let  alone  a  daid  nig- 
gah  ;  but  I'd  a  missed  mehsef  pow'ful,  an'  dat's  de 
pint  wid  me." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

ON  the  ijth  of  August,  1862,  McClellan  aban 
doned  his  camp  at  Harrison's  Landing  and 
retired  to  Fortress  Monroe.  General  Lee 
withdrew  all  his  troops  from  Richmond  but  two 
companies  of  infantry  left  behind  to  protect  the 
city  in  case  of  cavalry  raids.  General  Jackson 
joined  General  Lee,  and  the  battle  known  as  the 
second  Manassas  was  fought.  Wilcox,  Pryor,  and 
Featherstone  were  again  to  the  front,  and  at  one 
time  when  the  desperate  struggle  of  this  hard-fought 
battle  was  at  its  height,  and  the  situation  augured 
adversely  to  the  Southern  troops,  it  was  General 
Pryor's  privilege  to  suggest  that  several  batteries 
should  be  rushed  to  an  advantageous  position  and  a 
raking  fire  be  opened  upon  the  enemy's  flank  which 
nothing  could  withstand.  Within  fifteen  minutes 
the  aspect  of  the  field  was  changed.  On  the  plateau 
occupied  by  the  Federals  stood  the  Henry  house, 
celebrated  in  all  history  as  the  spot  where  Jackson's 
Brigade,  "  standing  like  a  stone  wall,"  had,  a  year 
before,  earned  the  name  for  their  commander  which 
has  become  immortal. 

I  think  it  was  early  in  September,  1862,  that  Gen 
eral  Lee  announced  to  President  Davis  that  he  pro 
posed  entering  Maryland  with  his  army.  Before  he 
could  receive  an  answer  the  Southerners  were  crossing 

173 


174  My  Day 

the  Potomac  singing  "  Maryland,  my  Maryland," 
and  in  a  few  days  Jackson  reached  Frederick.  "  My 
Maryland  "  was  earnestly  invited  and  positively  de 
clined  to  rid  her  "  shores  "  of  "  the  despot's  heel." 
The  despot's  hand  could  pay  in  good  greenbacks  for 
her  wheat  and  flour  and  cattle,  while  these  new  fel 
lows  had  only  Confederate  money.  The  governor 
and  leading  professional  men  were  all  loyal  to  the 
Union.  The  farmers  drove  their  herds  into  Penn 
sylvania,  and  in  the  mills  the  sound  of  the  grinding 
was  not  low  —  it  ceased  altogether.  The  Confed 
erates  might  defeat  Pope  and  McClellan  in  the 
battle-field  ;  the  farmer  proved  himself  master  of  the 
situation  in  the  wheat-field. 

My  general  was  in  Frederick  with  his  brigade, 
and  incidentally  saw  and  heard  nothing  of  the  touch 
ing  occurrence  commemorated  by  Whittier.  The 
Quaker  poet  was  a  romancer !  I  use  no  harsher 
term.  I  am  perfectly  willing  Barbara  Frietchie's 
"  old  gray  head  "  should  forever  wear  the  crown  he 
placed  upon  it,  but  I  cannot  brook  "  the  blush  of 
shame  "  over  Stonewall  Jackson's  face.  Blush  he 
often  did,  —  for  he  was  as  delicate  as  a  woman,  — 
but  blush  for  shame,  never!  Rhodes  says  :  "His 
riding  through  the  streets  gave  an  occasion  to  forge 
the  story  of  Barbara  Frietchie.  It  is  a  token  of  the 
intense  emotion  which  clouds  our  judgment  of  the 
enemy  in  arms.  Although  Stonewall  Jackson,  not 
long  before,  was  eager  to  raise  the  black  flag,  he  was 
incapable  of  giving  the  order  to  fire  at  the  window 
of  a  private  house  for  the  sole  reason  that  there  '  the 
old  flag  met  his  sight/  and  it  is  equally  impossible 


My  Day  175 

that  a  remark  of  old  Dame  Barbara,  c  Spare  your 
country's  flag/  could  have  brought  '  a  blush  of 
shame '  to  his  cheek.  Jackson  was  not  of  the 
cavalier  order,  but  he  had  a  religious  and  chivalrous 
respect  for  women."  He  goes  on  to  state  that  a 
woman,  not  Barbara  Frietchie,  waved  a  flag  as  Jack 
son  passed  to  which  he  paid  no  attention.  Also, 
that  when  he  had  passed  through  Middletown,  two 
pretty  girls  had  waved  Union  flags  in  his  face. 
"  He  bowed  and  raised  his  hat,  and  turning  with  his 
quiet  smile  to  his  staff,  said  :  c  We  evidently  have 
no  friends  in  this  town/  ' 

On  September  15  the  battle-line,  with  my  hus 
band's  division  (Longstreet's),  was  drawn  up  in 
front  of  Sharpsburg  (or  Antietam),  and  again  Pryor, 
Wilcox,  and  Featherstone  were  well  to  the  front. 
My  husband  commanded  Anderson's  division  at 
Antietam,  General  Anderson  having  been  wounded. 
This  battle  is  quoted,  along  with  the  battle  of  Seven 
Pines,  as  one  of  the  most  hotly  contested  of  the  war. 
Sorely  pressed  at  one  time,  General  Pryor  de 
spatched  an  orderly  to  General  Longstreet  with  a 
request  for  artillery.  The  latter  tore  the  margin 
from  a  newspaper  and  wrote  :  "I  am  sending  you 
the  guns,  dear  General.  This  is  a  hard  fight,  and  we 
had  better  all  die  than  lose  it."  At  one  time  during 
the  battle  the  combatants  agreed  upon  a  brief  cessa 
tion,  that  the  dead  and  wounded  of  both  sides 
might  be  removed.  While  General  Pryor  waited,  a 
Federal  officer  approached  him. 

"  General,"  said  he,  "  I  have  just  detected  one  of 
my  men  in  robbing  the  body  of  one  of  your  sol- 


176  My  Day 

diers.  I  have  taken  his  booty  from  him,  and  now 
consign  it  to  you." 

Without  examining  the  small  bundle  —  tied  in  a 
handkerchief —  my  husband  ordered  it  to  be  prop 
erly  enclosed  and  sent  to  me.  The  handkerchief 
contained  a  gold  watch,  a  pair  of  gold  sleeve-links, 
a  few  pieces  of  silver,  and  a  strip  of  paper  on  which 
was  written,  "  Strike  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires," 
and  signed  "  A  Florida  Patriot."  There  seemed  to 
be  no  clew  by  which  I  might  hope  to  find  an  inheri 
tor  for  these  treasures.  I  could  only  take  care  of 
them. 

I  brought  them  forth  one  day  to  interest  an  aged 
relative,  whose  chair  was  placed  in  a  sunny  window. 
"  I  think,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  there  are  pin- 
scratched  letters  on  the  inside  of  these  sleeve-but 
tons."  Sure  enough,  there  were  three  initials, 
rudely  made,  but  perfectly  plain. 

Long  afterward  I  met  a  Confederate  officer  from 
Florida  who  had  fought  at  Antietam. 

"  Did  you  know  any  one  from  your  state,  Cap 
tain,  who  was  killed  at  Sharpsburg  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  yes,"  he  replied,  and  mentioned  a  name 
corresponding  exactly  with  the  scratched  initials. 

The  parcel,  with  a  letter  from  me,  was  sent  to  an 
address  he  gave  me,  and  in  due  time  I  received  a 
most  touching  letter  of  thanks  from  the  mother  of  the 
dead  soldier. 

In  August  I  had  left  my  Gordon,  Theo,  and 
Mary  with  my  dear  aunt,  who  had  been  compelled  to 
abandon  her  mountain  home  and  now  lived  near cc  The 
Oaks"  in  Charlotte  County.  There  was  no  safety 


My  Day  177 

any  longer  except  in  the  interior,  far  from  the 
railroads.  Even  there  raiding  companies  of  cavalry 
dashed  through  the  country  bringing  terror  and 
leaving  a  desert  as  far  as  food  was  concerned. 

For  myself,  as  I  could  not  go  northward  with 
my  soldiers,  I  could  at  least  keep  within  the  lines  of 
communication,  and  I  selected  a  little  summer  resort, 
"  Coyners,"  in  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains  on  the 
line  of  the  railroad.  There  I  found  General  Elzey, 
—  who  had  fought  gallantly  at  Bull  Run  and  else 
where,  —  with  his  face  terribly  wounded  and  bandaged 
up  to  his  eyes.  He  had  been  sent  to  the  rear  with 
a  physician  for  rest  and  recovery.  His  brilliant 
wife  was  with  him  ;  also  his  aid,  Captain  Contee,  and 
his  young  bride,  who  had  crossed  the  Potomac  in 
an  open  boat  to  join  him  and  redeem  her  pledge  to 
marry  him.  We  were  joined  by  Mrs.  A.  P.  Hill, 
General  and  Mrs.  Wigfall  and  a  lovely  daughter 
who  has  recently  given  to  the  world  an  interesting 
story  of  her  war  recollections.  The  small  hotel 
spanned  a  little  green  valley  at  its  head,  and  stretch 
ing  behind  was  a  velvet  strip  of  green,  a  spring  and 
rivulet  in  the  midst,  and  a  mountain  ridge  on  either 
side.  I  had  a  tiny  cottage  with  windows  that 
opened  against  the  side  of  the  hill  (or  mountain), 
and  lying  on  my  bed  at  night,  the  moon  and  stars,  as 
they  rose  above  me,  seemed  so  near  I  could  have 
stretched  a  long  arm  and  picked  them  off  the  hill 
top  ! 

Strenuous  as  were  the  times,  awful  the  suspense, 
the  vexed  questions  of  precedence,  relative  impor 
tance,  rankled  in  the  bosoms  of  the  distinguished 


178  My  Day 

ladies  in  the  hotel.  One  after  another  would  come 
out  to  me  :  "  I'd  like  to  know  who  this  Maryland 
woman  is  that  she  gives  herself  such  airs ; "  or, 
"  How  much  longer  do  you  think  I'll  stand  Dolly 
Morgan  ?  Why,  she  treats  me  as  though  she  were 
the  Queen  of  Sheba."  I  could  only  reply  with  be 
coming  meekness  :  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  !  I  am 
only  a  brigadier,  you  know  —  the  rest  of  you  are 
major-generals  — I  am  not  competent  to  judge." 

Nature  had  done  everything  for  our  happiness. 
The  climate  was  delicious ;  the  valley  was  carpeted 
with  moss  and  tender  grass,  and  thickly  gemmed 
with  daisies  and  purple  asters.  Before  sunrise  the 
skies,  like  all  morning  skies  seen  between  high  hills, 
looked  as  if  made  of  roses.  A  short  climb  would 
bring  us  to  a  spot  where  the  evening  sky  and 
mountain  would  be  bathed  in  golden  glory.  But 
oh,  the  anguish  of  anxiety,  the  terror,  the  dreams  at 
night  of  battle  and  murder  and  sudden  death  ! 

My  little  Roger  was  desperately  ill  at  this  place, 
and  for  many  days  I  despaired  of  his  life.  General 
Elzey's  physician  gave  me  no  hope.  He  counselled 
only  fortitude  and  resignation.  The  dear  friend 
of  my  girlhood,  George  Wythe  Randolph,  was 
Secretary  of  War.  I  wrote  him  a  letter  imploring, 
"  Send  my  husband  to  me,  if  but  for  one  hour." 
He  answered,  "  God  knows  I  long  to  help  and 
comfort  you  !  but  you  ask  the  impossible."  I  soon 
knew  why.  My  general  was  at  the  front ! 

Not  until  late  —  long  after  every  guest  had  de 
parted  —  was  I  able  to  travel  with  my  invalid  son. 
Upon  arriving  in  Charlottesville,  he  had  a  relapse  of 


My  Day  179 

typhoid  fever  and  was  ill  unto  death  for  many 
weeks.  Meanwhile  his  father  was  ordered  to  the 
vicinity  of  Suffolk  to  collect  forage  and  provisions 
from  counties  near  the  Federal  lines. 

The  enemy  destined  to  conquer  us  at  last  — 
the  "ravenous,  hunger-starved  wolf"  —  already 
menaced  us.  General  Longstreet  had  learned  that 
corn  and  bacon  were  stored  in  the  northeastern 
counties  of  North  Carolina,  and  he  sent  two  compa 
nies  of  cavalry  on  a  foraging  expedition  to  the  region 
around  Suffolk. 

"  The  Confederate  lines,"  says  a  historian,  "  ex 
tended  only  to  the  Blackwater  River  on  the  east, 
where  a  body  of  Confederate  troops  was  stationed 
to  keep  the  enemy  in  check."  That  body  was 
commanded  by  General  Pryor,  now  in  front  of  a 
large  Federal  force  to  keep  it  in  check  while  the 
wagon  trains  sent  off  corn  and  bacon  for  Lee's  army. 
This  was  accomplished  by  sleepless  vigilance  on  the 
part  of  the  Confederate  general.  The  Federal 
forces  made  frequent  sallies  from  Suffolk,  but  were 
always  driven  back  with  loss.  It  is  amusing  to 
read  of  the  calmness  with  which  his  commanding 
officers  ordered  him  to  accomplish  great  things  with 
his  small  force. 

"  I  cannot,"  says  General  Colston,  "  forward  your 
requisition  for  two  regiments  of  infantry  and  one  of 
cavalry  :  it  is  almost  useless  to  make  such  requisi 
tions,  for  they  remain  unanswered.  You  must  use 
every  possible  means  to  deceive  the  enemy  as  to  your 
strength,  and  you  must  hold  the  line  of  the  Black- 
water  to  the  last  extremity" 


180  My  Day 

General  French  writes  :  "  If  I  had  any  way  to 
increase  your  forces,  I  should  do  so,  but  I  have  to 
bow  to  higher  authority  and  the  necessities  of  the 
service.  But  you  must  annoy  the  villains  all  you 
can,  and  make  them  uncomfortable.  Give  them  no 
rest.  Ambush  them  at  every  turn." 

General  Pryor  did  not  dream  I  would  come  to 
his  camp  at  Blackwater.  He  supposed  I  would  find 
quarters  among  my  friends,  but  I  had  now  no 
home.  Our  venerable  father  had  sent  his  family  to 
the  interior  after  the  battles  around  Richmond,  had 
given  up  his  church  in  Petersburg,  and,  commending 
the  women,  old  men,  and  children  to  the  care  of  a 
successor,  had  entered  the  army  as  chaplain,  "  where," 
as  he  said,  "  I  can  follow  my  own  church  members 
and  comfort  them  in  sickness,  if  I  can  do  no  more." 

As  soon  as  the  position  of  our  brigade  was  made 
known  to  me,  I  drew  forth  the  box  containing  the 
camp  outfit,  packed  a  trunk  or  two,  and  took  the 
cars  for  the  Blackwater.  The  terminus  of  the  rail 
road  was  only  a  few  miles  from  our  camp.  The 
Confederate  train  could  go  no  farther  because  of  the 
enemy.  The  day's  journey  was  long,  for  the  pas 
senger  car  attached  to  the  transportation  train  was 
dependent  upon  the  movements  of  the  latter.  The 
few  passengers  who  had  set  forth  with  me  in  the 
morning  had  left  at  various  wayside  stations,  and  I 
was  now  alone.  I  had  no  idea  where  we  should 
sleep  that  night.  I  thought  I  would  manage  it 
somehow  —  somewhere. 

We  arrived  at  twilight  at  the  end  of  our  journey. 
When  I  left  the  car,  my  little  boys  gathered  around 


My  Day  181 

me.  There  was  a  small  wooden  building  near,  which 
served  for  waiting-room  and  post-office.  The  only 
dwelling  in  sight  was  another  small  house,  sur 
rounded  by  a  few  bare  trees.  My  first  impression 
was  that  I  had  never  before  seen  such  an  expanse  of 
gray  sky.  The  face  of  the  earth  was  a  dead,  bare 
level,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  ;  and  much,  very 
much,  of  it  lay  under  water.  I  was  in  the  region  of 
swamps,  stretching  on  and  on  until  they  culminated 
in  the  one  great  "  Dismal  Swamp  "  of  the  country. 
No  sounds  were  to  be  heard,  no  hum  of  industry  or 
lowing  of  cattle,  but  a  mighty  concert  rose  from 
thousands,  nay  millions,  of  frogs. 

"  Now,"  thought  I,  "  here  is  really  a  fine  opportu 
nity  to  be  c  jolly  '  !  Mark  Tapley's  swamps  couldn't 
surpass  these."  But  all  the  railroad  folk  were  de 
parting,  and  the  postmaster  was  preparing  to  lock  his 
door  and  leave  also.  I  liked  the  looks  of  the  little 
man,  and  ventured  :  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  where  I  can  get  lodging 
to-night?  I  am  Mrs.  Pryor  —  the  general's  wife, 
and  to-morrow  he  will  take  care  of  me." 

My  little  man  did  not  belie  his  looks.  He  took 
me  in  his  own  house,  and  next  day  my  general,  at 
his  invitation,  made  the  house  his  headquarters. 

My  stay  on  the  Blackwater  was  most  interesting, 
but  I  cannot  repeat  the  story  here.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  our  safety  so  near  the  enemy's  lines  —  he  was 
just  across  the  Blackwater  —  was  purchased  by 
eternal  vigilance. 

Towards  the  last  of  January  we  had  a  season  of 
warm,  humid  weather.  Apparently  the  winter  was 


1 82  My  Day 

over ;  the  grass  was  springing  on  the  swamp,  green 
and  luxurious,  and  the  willows  swelling  into  bud. 
There  were  no  singing  birds  on  the  Blackwater  as 
early  as  January  28,  but  the  frogs  were  mightily  ex 
ercised  upon  the  coming  of  spring,  and  their  nightly 
concerts  took  on  a  jubilant  note. 

One  day  I  had  a  few  moments'  conversation  with 
my  husband  about  army  affairs,  and  he  remarked 
that  our  Southern  soldiers  were  always  restless  un 
less  they  were  in  action.  "  They  never  can  stand 
still  in  battle,"  he  said ;  "  they  are  willing  to  yell 
and  charge  the  most  desperate  positions,  but  if  they 
can't  move  forward,  they  must  move  backward. 
Stand  still  they  cannot." 

I  thought  I  could  perceive  symptoms  of  restless 
ness  on  the  part  of  their  commander.  Often  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  he  would  summon  John,  mount 
him,  and  send  him  to  camp,  a  short  distance  away*; 
and  presently  I  would  hear  the  tramp,  tramp  of  the 
general's  staff-officers,  coming  to  hold  a  council  of 
war  in  his  bedroom.  On  the  28th  of  January  he 
confided  to  me  that  on  the  next  day  he  would  make 
a  sally  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy.  "  He  is  get 
ting  entirely  too  impudent,"  said  he;  "I'm  not 
strong  enough  to  drive  him  out  of  the  country,  but 
he  must  keep  his  place." 

I  had  just  received  a  present  of  coffee.  This  was 
at  once  roasted  and  ground.  On  the  day  of  the 
march  fires  were  kindled  before  dawn  under  the 
great  pots  used  at  the  "  hog-killing  time  "  (an  era 
in  the  household),  and  many  gallons  of  coffee  were 
prepared.  This  was  sweetened,  and  when  our  men 


My  Day  183 

paused  near  the  house  to  form  the  line  of  march, 
the  servants  and  little  boys  passed  down  the  line 
with  buckets  of  the  steaming  coffee,  cups,  dippers, 
and  gourds.  Every  soldier  had  a  good  draught  of 
comfort  and  cheer.  The  weather  had  suddenly 
changed.  The  great  snow-storm  that  fell  in  a  few 
days  was  gathering,  the  skies  were  lowering,  and  the 
horizon  was  dark  and  threatening. 

After  the  men  had  marched  away,  I  drove  to  the 
hospital  tent  and  put  myself  at  the  disposal  of  the 
surgeon.  We  inspected  the  store  of  bandages  and 
lint,  and  I  was  intrusted  with  the  preparation  of  more. 
Meanwhile  John,  who  was  left  behind,  indemni 
fied  himself  for  the  loss  of  the  excitement  of  the 
hour  by  abusing  "  the  nasty  abolition  Yankees," 
singing :  — 

"Jeff  Davis  is  a  gent'man, 

An'  Linkum  is  a  fool  ! 

Jeff  Davis  rides  a  fine  white  horse, 

An*  Linkum  rides  a  mule/'  etc. 

He  was  not  the  only  one  of  the  nation's  wards 
who  held  the  nation  in  contempt  —  root  and  branch, 
President  and  people.  The  special  terms  in  which 
he  loved  to  designate  them  were  in  common  use 
among  his  own  race.  Some  of  the  expressions  of 
the  great  men  I  had  known  in  Washington  were 
quite  as  offensive  and  not  a  bit  less  inelegant,  al 
though  framed  in  better  English.  I  never  approved 
of  "  calling  names,"  for  higher  reasons  than  the  de 
mands  of  good  taste.  I  had  seen  what  comes  of  it, 
and  I  reproved  John  for  teaching  them  to  my  little 
boys. 


184  My  Day 

"  No'm,"  said  John,  crestfallen,  "  I  won't  say 
nothin' ;  I'll  just  say  the  Yankees  are  mighty  mean 
folks." 

My  dear  general  found  the  enemy  at  the  "  De 
serted  House  "  ;  and  there  gave  them  battle.  He 
may  tell  his  own  story :  — 

"  CARRSVILLE,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT,  January  30,  1863. 
u  To  BRIGADIER-GENERAL  COLSTON, 

"  PETERSBURG,  VA. 

"  General :  This  morning  at  four  o'clock  the  enemy  under 
Major-general  Peck  attacked  me  at  Kelley's  store,  eight 
miles  from  Suffolk.  After  three  hours'  severe  fighting  we 
repulsed  them  at  all  points  and  held  the  field.  Their  force 
is  represented  by  prisoners  to  be  between  ten  and  fifteen 
thousand.  My  loss  in  killed  and  wounded  will  not  exceed 
fifty  —  no  prisoners.  I  regret  that  Colonel  Poage  is  among 
the  killed.  We  inflicted  a  heavy  loss  on  the  enemy. 

"  Repectfully, 

u  ROGER  A.  PRYOR, 
"  Brigadier-general  Commanding." 

On  February  2  the  general  thus  addressed  his 
troops :  — 

"  The  brigadier-general  congratulates  the  troops  of 
this  command  on  the  results  of  the  recent  combat. 

u  The  enemy  endeavored  under  cover  of  night  to  steal 
an  inglorious  victory  by  surprise,  but  he  found  us  prepared 
at  every  point,  and  despite  his  superior  numbers,  greater 
than  your  own  in  the  proportion  of  five  to  one,  he  was 
signally  repulsed  and  compelled  to  leave  us  in  possession  of 
the  field. 

"  After  silencing  his  guns  and  dispersing  his  infantry, 
you  remained  on  the  field  from  night  until  one  o'clock, 


My  Day  185 

awaiting  the  renewal  of  the  attack,  but  he  did  not  again 
venture  to  encounter  your  terrible  fire. 

"  When  the  disparity  of  force  between  the  parties  is 
considered,  with  the  proximity  of  the  enemy  to  his  strong 
hold,  and  his  facilities  of  reinforcements  by  railway,  the  re 
sult  of  the  action  of  the  3Oth  will  be  accepted  as  a  splendid 
illustration  of  your  courage  and  good  conduct." 

One  of  the  "  enemy's  "  papers  declared  that  our 
force  was  "  three  regiments  of  infantry,  fourteen 
pieces  of  artillery,  and  about  nine  hundred  cavalry  !  " 

The  temptation  to  "  lie  under  a  mistake "  was 
great  in  those  days  of  possible  disaffection,  when 
soldiers  had  to  believe  in  their  cause  in  order  to  de 
fend  it.  One  of  the  newspaper  correspondents  of 
the  enemy  explained  why  we  were  not  again  attacked 
after  the  first  fight.  He  said:  "Some  may  inquire 
why  we  did  not  march  forthwith  to  Carrsville  and 
attack  the  rebels  again.  The  reasons  are  obvious. 
Had  he  went  [sic]  to  Carrsville,  Pry  or  would  have 
had  the  advantage  to  cut  off  our  retreat.  The  na 
tives  know  every  by-path  and  blind  road  through 
the  woods  and  are  ever  ready  to  help  the  rebels  to 
our  detriment.  Pryor  can  always  cross  the  Black- 
water  on  his  floating  bridge.  It  is  prudent  to  allow 
an  enemy  to  get  well  away  from  his  stronghold  the 
better  to  capture  his  guns  and  destroy  his  ammuni 
tion,"  etc. 

Another  paper  declares  he  was  heavily  reenforced 
at  Carrsville. 

Another  records:  "The  rebels  have  been  very 
bold  in  this  neighborhood.  Pryor  has  been  in  the 
habit  of  crossing  the  Blackwater  River  whenever  he 


1 86  My  Day 

wanted  to.  Our  attacking  him  this  time  must  have 
been  a  real  surprise  to  him.  We  took  a  large  num 
ber  of  prisoners  ! " 

He  continued  the  indulgence  of  this  habit  until 
spring,  receiving  from  his  countrymen  unstinted 
praise  for  his  protection  of  that  part  of  our  state, 
and  for  the  generous  supplies  he  sent  all  winter  to 
Lee's  army. 


CHAPTER    XX 

AS  for  myself,  when  my  general  was  no  longer 
needed  on  the  Blackwater,  the  camp  chest  and 
I  and  the  little  boys  took  the  road  again. 
We  wandered  from  place  to  place,  and  at  last  were 
taken  as  boarders,  invited  by  a  farmer,  evidently 
without  the  consent  of  his  wife.  There  I  was,  of 
all  women  made  most  miserable.  The  mistress  of 
the  house  had  not  wanted  "  refugees."  Everything 
combined  to  my  discomfort  and  wretchedness,  and 
my  dear  general,  making  me  a  flying  visit  from 
Richmond  where  he  was  detained  on  duty,  coun 
selled  me  to  go  still  farther  into  the  interior  to  an 
old  watering  place,  the  "  Amelia  Springs  "  kept  by 
a  dear  Virginia  woman,  Mrs.  Winn.  I  had  no 
sooner  arrived  and  been  welcomed  by  a  number  of 
refugee  women,  and  a  host  of  children  when  my 
three  little  boys  developed  whooping-cough,  and 
were  strictly  quarantined  in  a  cottage  at  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  grounds.  The  little  hotel  and  cottages 
were  filled  with  agreeable  women,  but  everything 
was  so  sad,  there  was  no  heart  in  any  one  for 
gayety  of  any  kind.  One  evening  the  proprietor 
proposed  that  the  ballroom  be  lighted  and  a  soli 
tary  fiddler,  "  Bozeman,"  —  who  was  also  the  bar 
ber,  —  be  installed  in  the  musician's  seat  and  show 
us  what  he  could  do.  Young  feet  cannot  resist  a 
good  waltz  or  polka,  and  the  floor  was  soon  filled 

187 


1 88  My  Day 

with  care-forgetting  maidens  —  there  were  no  men 
except  the  proprietor  and  the  fiddler.  Presently  a 
telegram  was  received  by  the  former.  We  huddled 
together  under  the  chandelier  to  read  it.  Vicks- 
burg  had  fallen  !  The  gallant  General  Pemberton 
had  been  starved  into  submission.  Surely  and  swiftly 
the  coil  was  tightening  around  us.  Surely  and 
swiftly  would  we,  too,  be  starved  into  submission. 
My  general  was  in  Richmond  serving  on  a 
court-martial,  when  the  news  from  Gettysburg 
reached  the  city.  Every  house  was  in  mourning, 
every  heart  broken.  He  called  upon  President  and 
Mrs.  Davis,  and  was  told  that  the  President  could 
receive  no  one,  but  that  Mrs.  Davis  would  be  glad 
to  see  him.  The  weather  was  intensely  hot,  and  he 
felt  he  must  not  inflict  a  long  visit ;  but  when  he 
rose  to  leave,  Mrs.  Davis,  who  seemed  unwilling  to 
be  left  alone,  begged  him  to  remain.  After  a  few 
minutes  the  President  appeared,  weary,  silent,  and 
depressed.  Presently  a  dear  little  boy  entered  in 
his  night-robe,  and  kneeling  beside  his  father's 
knee,  repeated  his  evening  prayer  of  thankfulness 
and  of  supplication  for  God's  blessing  on  the  coun 
try.  The  President  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's  head 
and  fervently  responded,  "  Amen."  The  scene  re 
curred  vividly,  in  the  light  of  future  events,  to  my 
husband's  memory.  With  the  coming  day  came 
the  news  of  the  surrender  of  Vicksburg,  —  news  of 
which  Mr.  Davis  had  been  forewarned  the  evening 
before,  —  and  already  the  Angel  of  Death  was  hover 
ing  near  to  enfold  the  beautiful  boy  and  bear  him 
away  from  a  world  of  trouble. 


My  Day  189 

The  long,  sultry  nights  were  spent  by  me  in 
nursing  my  little  boys  through  their  distressing 
whooping-cough  paroxysms.  I  was  sleeping  after 
a  wakeful  night,  when  I  heard,  as  in  a  dream, 
my  dear  general's  voice.  I  opened  my  heavy  eyes 
to  see  him  seated  beside  me.  He  earnestly  en 
treated  me  to  bear  with  patience  the  news  he 
brought  me  —  first  that  he  must  return  in  an  hour 
to  catch  a  train  back  to  Richmond,  and  then  that 
he  had  resigned  his  commission  as  brigadier-gen 
eral  and  was  en  route  to  join  General  Fitz  Lee's  cav 
alry  as  a  private.  I  have  told  the  story  of  the 
events  which  culminated  in  this  unprecedented  act 
of  a  brigadier-general,  and  I  fear  I  have  not  time  or 
space  to  repeat  it  here.  Briefly,  Congress  having 
recommended  that  regiments  should  be  enlisted  under 
officers  from  their  own  states,  —  in  order  to  remedy, 
if  possible,  the  disinclination  to  reenlist  for  the  war, 
—  there  was  a  general  upheaval  and  change  through 
out  the  entire  army  during  the  autumn  of  1862. 
The  Second,  Fifth,  and  Eighth  Florida  regiments  of 
General  Pryor's  Brigade  were  assigned  to  a  Florida 
brigadier,  the  Fourteenth  Alabama  and  the  Fifth 
North  Carolina  to  officers  from  their  respective 
states.  He  was,  in  consequence  of  this  order  of 
Congress,  left  without  a  brigade.  He  was  posi 
tively  assured  of  a  permanent  command.  "  I  re 
gretted,"  wrote  General  Lee,  November  25,  1862, 
"  at  the  time,  the  breaking  up  of  your  brigade,  but 
you  are  aware  that  the  circumstances  which  produced 
it  were  beyond  my  control.  I  hope  it  will  not  be 
long  before  you  will  be  again  in  the  field,  that  the 


My  Day 

country  may  derive  the  benefit  of  your  zeal  and 
activity."  He  had  a  right  to  expect  reward  for  his 
splendid  service  on  the  Blackwater.  He  had  never 
ceased  all  winter  to  remind  the  Secretary  of  War  of 
his  promise  to  give  him  a  permanent  command. 
He  felt  that  he  had  earned  it.  He  had  fought 
many  battles,  —  Williamsburg,  Seven  Pines,  Me- 
chanicsville,  Gaines's  Mill,  Frazier's  Farm,  the 
second  Manassas,  and  Sharpsburg,  besides  the 
fight  at  the  Deserted  House  on  the  Blackwater. 

He  now  wrote,  April  6,  1 863,  an  almost  passionate 
appeal  to  the  President  himself,  imploring  that  he  be 
sent  into  active  service,  and  not  be  "  denied  partici 
pation  in  the  struggles  that  are  soon  to  determine 
the  destinies  of  my  country.  If  I  know  myself,"  he 
added,  "  it  is  not  the  vanity  of  command  that  moves 
me  to  this  appeal.  A  single  and  sincere  wish  to 
contribute  somewhat  to  the  success  of  our  cause 
impels  me  to  entreat  that  I  may  be  assigned  to  duty. 
That  my  position  is  not  the  consequence  of  any 
default  of  mine  you  will  be  satisfied  by  the  enclosed 
letter  from  General  Lee."  The  letter  was  followed 
by  new  promises.  It  was  supplemented  by  General 
Pryor's  fellow-officers,  who  not  only  urged  that  the 
country  should  not  lose  his  services,  but  designated 
certain  regiments  which  might  easily  be  assigned  to 
him.  The  President  wrote  courteous  letters  in  reply, 
always  repeating  assurances  of  esteem,  etc.,  and  con 
tinuing  to  give  brigades  to  newer  officers.  The 
Richmond  Examiner  and  other  papers  now  began  to 
notice  the  matter  and  present  General  Pryor  as 
arrayed  with  the  party  against  the  administration. 


My  Day  191 

This  being  untrue,  he  was  magnanimous  enough  to 
contradict.  On  March  17,  1863,  the  President 
wrote  to  him  the  following:  — 

"  GENERAL  ROGER  A.  PRYOR  : 

"  General :  Your  gratifying  letter  on  the  i6th  inst., 
referring  to  an  article  in  the  Examiner  newspaper  which 
seems  to  associate  you  with  the  opposition  to  the  admin 
istration,  has  been  received. 

"  I  did  not  see  the  article  in  question,  but  I  am  glad  it 
had  led  to  an  expression  so  agreeable.  The  good  opinion 
of  one  so  competent  to  judge  of  public  affairs,  and  who  has 
known  me  so  long  and  closely,  is  a  great  support  in  the 
midst  of  many  and  arduous  trials. 

"  Very  respectfully  and  truly  yours, 

"JEFFERSON  DAVIS." 

Among  the  letters  sent  to  Mr.  Davis  in  General 
Pryor's  behalf  was  one  from  General  Lee  and  one 
from  General  Jackson,  both  of  which  unhappily  re 
mained  in  the  President's  possession,  no  copies  hav 
ing  been  kept  by  General  Pryor. 

As  time  went  on,  my  husband  waited  with  such 
patience  as  he  could  command.  Finally  he  resigned 
his  commission  as  brigadier-general  and  also  his  seat 
in  Congress,  and  entered  General  Fitzhugh  Lee's 
cavalry  as  a  private  soldier.  His  resignation  was 
held  a  long  time  by  the  President,  "  in  the  hope  it 
would  be  reconsidered,"  and  repeatedly  General 
Pryor  was  "  assured  of  the  President's  esteem,"  etc. 
General  Jackson,  General  Longstreet,  General  A.  P. 
Hill,  General  D.  H.  Hill,  General  Wilcox,  General 
George  Pickett,  General  Beauregard,  were  all  his 


1 92  My  Day 

devoted  friends.  Some  of  them  had,  like  General 
Johnston  and  General  McClellan,  similar  experience. 

It  was  a  bitter  hour  for  me  when  my  general  fol 
lowed  me  to  the  Amelia  Springs  with  news  that 
he  had  entered  the  cavalry  as  a  private.  "  Stay 
with  me  and  the  children,"  I  implored. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  had  something  to  do  with 
bringing  on  this  war.  I  must  give  myself  to 
Virginia.  She  needs  the  help  of  all  her  sons.  If 
there  are  too  many  brigadier-generals  in  the  service, 
—  it  may  be  so,  —  certain  it  is  there  are  not  enough 
private  soldiers." 

But  his  hour  had  passed.  He  kissed  his  sleep 
ing  boys  and  hurried  off  to  the  stage  that  was  to  take 
him  to  the  depot.  There  John  was  waiting  with  his 
horses  (he  never  accepted  anything  but  a  soldier's 
ration  from  the  government),  and  they  were  off  to 
join  Fitzhugh  Lee. 

The  Divinity  that  "  rules  our  ends,  rough  hew 
them  as  we  may,"  was  guiding  him.  I  look  back 
with  gratitude  to  these  circumstances,  —  then  so 
hard  to  bear,  —  circumstances  to  which,  I  am  per 
suaded,  I  owe  my  husband's  life.  Even  were  it 
otherwise,  God  forbid  I  should  admit  into  my  bosom 
hard  thoughts  of  any  man. 

General  Lee  welcomed  him  in  hearty  fashion :  — 

"  HEADQUARTERS,  August  26,  1863. 

"  Honorable,  General,  or  Mr. :  How  shall  I  address 
you  ?  Damn  it,  there's  no  difference  !  Come  up  to  see 
me.  Whilst  I  regret  the  causes  that  induced  you  to  resign 
your  position,  I  am  glad  that  the  country  has  not  lost  your 


My  Day  193 

active  services,  and  that  your  choice  to  serve  her  has  been 
cast  in  one  of  my  regiments. 

"  Very  respectfully, 

"  FITZ  LEE." 


As  a  common  soldier  in  the  cavalry  service, 
General  Pryor  was  assigned  the  duties  of  his  posi 
tion,  from  not  one  of  which  did  he  ever  excuse 
himself. 

Having  no  longer  a  home  of  my  own,  it  was 
decided  that  I  should  go  to  my  people  in  Charlotte 
County.  One  of  my  sons,  Theo,  and  two  of  my 
little  daughters  were  already  there,  and  there  I  ex 
pected  to  remain  until  the  end  of  the  war. 

But  repeated  attempts  to  reach  my  country  home 
resulted  in  failure.  Marauding  parties  and  guerillas 
were  flying  all  over  the  country.  There  had  been 
alarm  at  a  bridge  over  the  Staunton  near  "The  Oaks/' 
and  the  old  men  and  boys  had  driven  away  the 
enemy.  I  positively  could  not  venture  alone. 

So  it  was  decided  that  I  should  return  to  my 
husband's  old  district,  to  Petersburg,  and  there  find 
board  in  some  private  family. 

I  reached  Petersburg  in  the  autumn  and  wandered 
about  for  days  seeking  refuge  in  some  household. 
Many  of  my  old  friends  had  left  town.  Strangers 
and  refugees  had  rented  the  houses  of  some  of  these, 
while  others  were  filled  with  the  homeless  among 
their  own  kindred.  There  was  no  room  anywhere  for 
me,  and  my  small  purse  was  growing  so  slender 
that  I  became  anxious.  Finally  my  brother-in-law  of 
fered  me  an  overseer's  house  on  one  of  his  "  quarters." 


194  My  Day 

The  small  dwelling  he  placed  at  my  disposal  was  to 
be  considered  temporary  only ;  some  one  of  his  town 
houses  might  soon  be  vacant.  When  I  drove  out  to 
the  little  house,  I  found  it  hardly  better  than  a  hovel. 
We  entered  a  rude,  unplastered  kitchen,  the  planks 
of  the  floor  loose  and  wide  apart,  the  earth  beneath 
plainly  visible.  There  were  no  windows  in  this 
smoke-blackened  kitchen.  A  door  opened  into  a 
tiny  room  with  a  fireplace,  window,  and  out-door 
of  its  own ;  and  a  short  flight  of  stairs  led  to  an 
unplastered  attic,  so  that  the  little  apartment  was 
entered  by  two  doors  and  a  staircase.  It  was  already 
cold,  but  we  had  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat  and  sit  out 
side  while  a  negro  boy  made  a  "  smudge "  in  the 
house,  to  dislodge  the  wasps  that  had  tenanted  it 
for  many  months.  My  brother  had  lent  me 
bedding  for  the  overseer's  pine  bedstead  and  the 
low  trundle-bed  underneath.  The  latter,  when 
drawn  out  at  night,  left  no  room  for  us  to  stand. 
When  that  was  done,  we  had  all  to  go  to  bed.  For 
furniture  we  had  only  two  or  three  wooden  chairs 
and  a  small  table.  There  were  no  curtains,  neither 
carpet  nor  rugs,  and  no  china.  There  was  wood  at  the 
woodpile,  and  a  little  store  of  meal  and  rice,  with  a 
small  bit  of  bacon  in  the  overseer's  grimy  closet. 
This  was  to  be  my  winter  home. 

Petersburg  was  already  virtually  in  a  state  of 
siege.  Not  a  tithe  of  the  food  needed  for  its  army 
of  refugees  could  be  brought  to  the  city.  Our 
highway,  the  river,  was  filled,  except  for  a  short  dis 
tance,  with  Federal  gunboats.  The  markets  had 
long  been  closed.  The  stores  of  provisions  had 


My  Day  195 

been  exhausted,  so  that  a  grocery  could  offer  little 
except  a  barrel  or  two  of  molasses  made  from  the 
domestic  sorghum  sugar-cane,  an  acrid  and  unwhole 
some  sweet  used  instead  of  sugar  for  drink  with 
water  or  milk  and  for  eating  with  bread.  The 
little  boys  at  once  began  to  keep  house.  They 
valiantly  attacked  the  woodpile,  and  found  favor 
in  the  eyes  of  Mary  and  the  man,  whom  I  never 
knew  as  other  than  "  Mary's  husband."  He  and 
Mary  were  left  in  charge  of  the  quarter  and  had  a 
cabin  near  us. 

I  had  no  books,  no  newspapers,  no  means  of 
communicating  with  the  outside  world  ;  but  I  had 
one  neighbor,  Mrs.  Laighton,  a  daughter  of  Wins 
ton  Henry,  granddaughter  of  Patrick  Henry.  She 
lived  near  me  with  her  husband  —  a  Northern  man. 
Both  were  very  cultivated,  very  poor,  very  kind. 
Mrs.  Laighton,  as  Lucy  Henry,  —  a  brilliant  young 
girl,  —  I  had  last  seen  at  one  of  her  mother's 
gay  house-parties  in  Charlotte  County.  We  had 
much  in  common,  and  her  kind  heart  went  out  in 
love  and  pity  for  me.  Her  talk  was  a  tonic  to  me. 
It  stimulated  me  to  play  my  part  with  courage,  seeing 
I  had  been  deemed  worthy,  by  the  God  who  made 
me,  to  suffer  in  this  sublime  struggle  for  liberty. 
She  was  as  truly  gifted  as  was  ever  her  illustrious 
grandfather.  To  hear  her  was  to  believe,  so  per 
suasive  and  convincing  was  her  eloquence. 

I  had  not  my  good  Eliza  Page  this  winter.  She 
had  fallen  ill.  I  had  a  stout  little  black  girl,  Julia, 
as  my  only  servant;  but  Mary  had  a  friend,  a 
"  corn-field  hand,"  "  Anarchy,"  who  managed  to 


196  My  Day 

help  me  at  odd  hours.  Mrs.  Laighton  sent  me 
every  morning  a  print  of  butter  as  large  as  a  silver 
dollar,  with  two  or  three  perfect  biscuits,  and  some 
times  a  bowl  of  persimmons  or  stewed  dried  peaches. 
She  had  a  cow,  and  churned  every  day,  making  her 
biscuits  of  the  buttermilk,  which  was  much  too  pre 
cious  to  drink. 

A  great  snow-storm  overtook  us  a  day  or  two  be 
fore  Christmas.  My  little  boys  kindled  a  roaring 
fire  in  the  cold,  open  kitchen,  roasted  chestnuts,  and 
set  traps  for  the  rabbits  and  "snowbirds/*  which 
never  entered  them.  They  made  no  murmur  at  the 
bare  Christmas  ;  they  were  loyal  little  fellows  to 
their  mother.  My  day  had  been  spent  in  mend 
ing  their  garments, —  making  them  was  a  privilege 
denied  me,  for  I  had  no  materials.  I  was  not  "  all 
unhappy  !  "  The  rosy  cheeks  at  my  fireside  con 
soled  me  for  my  privations,  and  something  within 
me  proudly  rebelled  against  weakness  or  complain 
ing. 

The  flakes  were  falling  thickly  at  midnight  on 
Christmas  Eve  when  I  suddenly  became  very  ill. 
I  sent  out  for  Mary's  husband  and  bade  him  gallop 
in  to  Petersburg,  three  miles  distant,  and  fetch  me 
Dr.  Withers.  I  was  dreadfully  ill  when  he  arrived, 
and  as  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  I  said  to 
him :  "  It  doesn't  matter  much  for  me,  Doctor ! 
But  my  husband  will  be  grateful  if  you  keep  me 
alive." 

When  I  awoke  from  a  long  sleep,  he  was  still 
standing  at  the  foot  of  my  bed  where  I  had  left  him 
—  it  seemed  to  me  ages  ago  !  I  put  out  my  hand 


My  Day  197 

and  it  touched  a  little  warm  bundle  beside  me. 
God  had  given  me  a  dear  child ! 

The  doctor  spoke  to  me  gravely  and  most  kindly. 
"  I  must  leave  you  now,"  he  said,  "  and,  alas  !  I 
cannot  come  again.  There  are  so  many,  so  many 
sick.  Call  all  your  courage  to  your  aid.  Remem 
ber  the  pioneer  women,  and  all  they  were  able  to 
survive.  This  woman,"  indicating  Anarchy,  "  is  a 
field-hand,  but  she  is  a  mother,  and  she  has  agreed 
to  help  you  during  the  Christmas  holidays  —  her 
own  time.  And  now,  God  bless  you,  and  good-by  !  " 

I  soon  slept  again,  and  when  I  awoke,  the  very 
Angel  of  Strength  and  Peace  had  descended  and 
abode  with  me.  I  resolved  to  prove  to  myself  that 
if  I  was  called  to  be  a  great  woman,  I  could  be  a 
great  woman.  Looking  at  me  from  my  bedside 
were  my  two  little  boys.  They  had  been  taken  the 
night  before  across  -  the  snow-laden  fields  to  my 
brother's  house,  but  had  risen  at  daybreak  and  had 
"  come  home  to  take  care  "  of  me  ! 

My  little  maid  Julia  left  me  Christmas  morning. 
She  said  it  was  too  lonesome,  and  her  "  mistis " 
always  let  her  choose  her  own  places.  I  engaged 
"Anarchy  "  at  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  for  all  her 
nights.  But  her  hands,  knotted  by  work  in  the 
fields,  were  too  rough  to  touch  my  babe.  I  was 
propped  up  on  pillows  and  dressed  her  myself,  some 
times  fainting  when  the  exertion  was  over. 

I  was  still  in  my  bed  three  weeks  afterward,  when 
one  of  my  boys  ran  in,  exclaiming  in  a  frightened 
voice,  "  Oh,  mamma,  an  old  gray  soldier  is  coming 
in!" 


198  My  Day 

He  stood  —  this  old  gray  soldier  —  and  looked 
at  me,  leaning  on  his  sabre. 

"  Is  this  the  reward  my  country  gives  me  ?  "  he 
said  ;  and  not  until  he  spoke  did  I  recognize  my 
husband.  Turning  on  his  heel,  he  went  out,  and  I 
heard  him  call :  — 

"  John !  John !  Take  those  horses  into  town 
and  sell  them  !  Do  not  return  until  you  do  so  — 
sell  them  for  anything!  Get  a  cart  and  bring  butter, 
eggs,  and  everything  you  can  find  for  Mrs.  Pryor's 
comfort." 

He  had  been  with  Fitz  Lee  on  that  dreadful 
tramp  through  the  snow  after  Averill.  He  had 
suffered  cold  and  hunger,  had  slept  on  the  ground 
without  shelter,  sharing  his  blanket  with  John.  He 
had  used  his  own  horses,  and  now  if  the  government 
needed  him,  the  government  might  mount  him.  He 
had  no  furlough,  and  soon  reported  for  duty  ;  but 
not  before  he  had  moved  us,  early  in  January,  into 
town  —  one  of  my  brother-in-law's  houses  having 
been  vacated  at  the  beginning  of  the  year.  John 
knew  his  master  too  well  to  construe  him  literally, 
and  had  reserved  the  fine  gray,  Jubal  Early,  for  his 
use.  That  I  might  not  again  fall  into  the  sad  plight 
in  which  he  had  found  me,  he  purchased  three  hun 
dred  dollars  in  gold,  and  instructed  me  to  prepare  a 
girdle  to  be  worn  all  the  time  around  my  waist,  con 
cealed  by  my  gown.  The  coins  were  quilted  in  ; 
each  had  a  separate  section  to  itself,  so  that  with 
scissors  I  might  extract  one  at  a  time  without  dis 
turbing  the  rest. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

EARLY  in  June  the  two  armies  of  Grant  and 
Lee  confronted  each  other  at  Petersburg.  My 
dear  general  had  bidden  a  silent  and  most 
sad  farewell  to  his  little  family  and  gone  forth  to 
join  his  company,  when  my  father  entered  with  great 
news.  "  I  have  just  met  General  Lee  in  the  street." 
"  Passing  through  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Not  at  all !  The 
lines  are  established  just  here  and  filled  with  his 
veterans."  My  general  soon  reentered  joyfully. 
He  would  now  be  on  duty  near  us. 

The  next  Sunday  a  shell  fell  in  the  Presbyterian 
Church  opposite  our  house.  From  that  moment 
we  were  shelled  at  intervals,  and  very  severely. 
There  were  no  soldiers  in  the  city.  Women  were 
killed  on  the  lower  streets,  and  an  exodus  from  the 
shelled  districts  commenced  at  once. 

As  soon  as  the  enemy  brought  up  his  siege  guns 
of  heavy  artillery,  they  opened  on  the  city  with  shell 
without  the  slightest  notice,  or  without  giving  op 
portunity  for  the  removal  of  non-combatants,  the 
sick,  the  wounded,  or  the  women  and  children. 
The  fire  was  at  first  directed  toward  the  Old  Market, 
presumably  because  of  the  railroad  depot  situated 
there,  about  which  the  soldiers  might  be  supposed 
to  collect.  But  the  guns  soon  enlarged  their  opera 
tions,  sweeping  all  the  streets  in  the  business  part  of 
the  city,  and  then  invading  the  residential  region. 

199 


200  My  Day 

The  steeples  of  the  churches  seemed  to  afford  targets 
for  their  fire,  all  of  them  coming  in  finally  for  a 
share  of  the  compliment. 

To  persons  unfamiliar  with  the  infernal  noise 
made  by  the  screaming,  ricocheting,  and  bursting  of 
shells,  it  is  impossible  to  convey  an  adequate  idea 
of  the  terror  and  demoralization  which  ensued. 
Some  families  who  could  not  leave  the  besieged  city 
dug  holes  in  the  ground,  five  or  six  feet  deep,  cov 
ered  with  heavy  timber  banked  over  with  earth, 
the  entrance  facing  opposite  the  batteries  from  which 
the  shells  were  fired.  They  made  these  bomb- 
proofs  safe,  at  least,  and  thither  the  family  repaired 
when  heavy  shelling  commenced.  General  Lee 
seemed  to  recognize  that  no  part  of  the  city  was  safe, 
for  he  immediately  ordered  the  removal  of  all  the 
hospitals,  under  the  care  of  Petersburg's  esteemed 
physician,  Dr.  John  Herbert  Claiborne.  There 
were  three  thousand  sick  and  wounded,  many  of 
them  too  ill  to  be  moved.  Everything  that  could 
run  on  wheels,  from  a  dray  to  a  wheelbarrow,  was 
pressed  into  service  by  the  fleeing  inhabitants  of  the 
town.  A  long,  never  ending  line  passed  my  door 
until  there  were  no  more  to  pass. 

The  spectacle  fascinated  my  children,  and  they 
lived  in  the  open  watching  it.  One  day  my  little 
friend  Nannie  with  my  baby,  nearly  as  large  as  her 
self,  in  her  arms,  stood  at  the  gate  when  a  shell  fell 
some  distance  from  them.  A  mounted  officer  drew 
rein  and  accosted  her.  "  Whose  children  are 
these?" 

"  This  is  Charles  Campbell's  daughter/'  said  little 


My  Day  201 

Nannie,  "and  this"  —  indicating  the  baby  —  "is 
General  Pryor's  child." 

"Run  home  with  General  Pryor's  baby,  little 
girl,  away  from  the  shells,"  he  said,  and  turning  as 
he  rode  off,  "  My  love  to  your  father.  I'm  coming 
to  see  him." 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  little  Nannie  inquired  of  a 
bystander. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?  That's  General 
Lee!" 

We  soon  learned  the  peculiar  deep  boom  of  the 
one  great  gun  which  bore  directly  upon  us.  The 
boys  named  it  "  Long  Tom."  Sometimes  for  several 
weeks  "Long  Tom"  rested  or  slept  —  and  would 
then  make  up  for  lost  time.  And  yet  we  yielded 
to  no  panic.  The  children  seemed  to  understand 
that  it  would  be  cowardly  to  complain.  One  little 
girl  cried  out  with  fright  at  an  explosion,  but  her 
aunt,  Mrs.  Gibson,  called  her  and  said:  "My  dear, 
you  cannot  make  it  harder  for  other  people  !  If 
you  feel  very  much  afraid,  come  to  me,  and  I  will 
take  you  in  my  arms,  but  you  mustn't  cry." 

Charles  Campbell,  the  historian,  lived  near  us,  at 
the  Anderson  Seminary.  He  cleared  out  the  large 
coal  cellar,  which  was  fortunately  dry,  spread  rugs  on 
the  floor,  and  furnished  it  with  lounges  and  chairs. 
There  we  took  refuge  in  utter  darkness  when  the 
firing  was  unbearable.  My  next-door  neighbor,  Mr. 
Thomas  Branch,  piled  bags  of  sand  around  his  house 
and  thus  made  it  bomb-proof.  One  day  a  shell 
struck  one  of  my  chimneys  and  buried  itself,  hissing, 
at  the  front  door.  Away  we  went  to  Mr.  Campbell's 


202  My  Day 

bomb-proof  cellar,  and  there  we  remained  until  the 
paroxysmal  shelling  ceased. 

One  night,  after  a  long,  hot  day,  we  were  so  tired 
we  slept  soundly.  I  was  awakened  by  Eliza  Page, 
standing  trembling  beside  me.  She  pulled  me  out 
of  bed  and  hurriedly  turned  to  throw  blankets  around 
the  children.  The  furies  were  let  loose  !  The  house 
was  shaking  with  the  concussion  from  the  heavy  guns. 
We  were  in  the  street,  on  our  way  to  our  bomb 
proof  cellar,  when  a  shell  burst  not  more  than  twenty- 
five  feet  before  us.  Fire  and  fragments  rose  like  a 
fountain  in  the  air  and  fell  in  a  shower  around  us. 
Not  one  of  my  little  family  was  hurt  —  and  strange 
to  say,  the  children  were  not  terrified ! 

Another  time  a  shell  fell  in  our  own  yard  and 
buried  itself  in  the  earth.  My  baby  was  not  far 
away  in  her  nurse's  arms.  The  little  creature  was 
fascinated  by  the  shells.  The  first  word  she  ever 
uttered  was  an  attempt  to  imitate  them.  "  Yonder 
comes  that  bird  with  the  broken  wing,"  the  servants 
would  say.  The  shells  made  a  fluttering  sound  as 
they  traversed  the  air,  descending  with  a  frightful 
hiss.  When  they  exploded  in  mid-air,  a  puff  of  smoke, 
white  as  an  angel's  wing,  would  drift  away,  and  the 
particles  would  patter  down  like  hail.  At  night 
the  track  of  the  shell  and  its  explosion  were  precisely 
similar  to  our  Fourth  of  July  rockets,  except  that 
they  were  fired,  not  upward,  but  in  a  slanting  direc 
tion, —  not  aimed  at  the  stars,  but  aimed  at  us !  I 
never  felt  afraid  of  them  !  I  was  brought  up  to 
believe  in  predestination.  Courage,  after  all,  is 
much  a  matter  of  nerves.  My  neighbors,  Mr.  and 


My  Day  203 

Mrs.  Gibson,  Mrs.  Meade,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Campbell,  agreed  with  me,  and  we  calmly  elected  to 
remain  in  town.  There  was  no  place  of  safety 
accessible  to  us.  Mr.  Branch  removed  his  family, 
and,  as  far  as  I  knew,  none  other  of  my  friends  re 
mained  throughout  the  summer. 

Not  far  from  our  own  door  ran  a  sunken  street,  with 
the  hill,  through  which  it  was  cut,  rising  each  side 
of  it.  Into  this  hill  the  negroes  burrowed,  hollow 
ing  out  a  small  space,  where  they  sat  all  day  on 
mats,  knitting,  singing,  and  selling  small  cakes  made 
of  sorghum  and  flour,  and  little  round  meat  pies. 

The  antiphonal  songs,  with  their  weird  melody, 
still  linger  in  my  memory.  At  night  above  the  dull 
roar  of  the  guns,  the  keen  hiss  of  the  shells  as  they 
fell,  the  rattle  and  rumble  of  the  army  wagons,  a 
strong  voice  from  the  colony  of  hillside  huts  would 
ring.  out  :  — 

"  My  brederin  do-o-n't  be  weary, 

De  angel  brought  de  tidin's  down. 
Do-o-n't  be  weary 

For  we're  gwine  home  ! 

"  I  want  to  go  to  heaven! 
(  Answer)  Yas,  my  Lawd  ! 

I  want  to  see  my  Jesus  ! 
Yas,  my  Lawd  ! 


(Chorus)  '<  My  brederin  do-o-n't  be  weary, 

De  angel  brought  de  tidin's  down. 
Do-o-n't  be  weary 
For  we're  gwine  home." 

The  sorghum  cakes  were  made  to  perfection  in 
our  own  kitchen,  but  the  meat  pies  were  fascinating. 


204  My  Day 

I  might  have  been  tempted  to  invest  in  them  but 
for  a  slight  circumstance.  I  saw  a  dead  mule  lying 
on  the  common,  and  out  of  its  side  had  been  cut  a 
very  neat,  square  chunk  of  flesh  ! 

With  all  our  starvation  we  never  ate  rats,  mice,  or 
mule  meat.  We  managed  to  exist  on  peas,  bread, 
and  sorghum.  We  could  buy  a  little  milk,  and  we 
mixed  it  with  a  drink  made  from  roasted  and  ground 
corn.  The  latter,  in  the  grain,  was  scarce.  Mr. 
Campbell's  children  picked  up  the  grains  wherever 
the  army  horses  were  fed,  washed,  dried,  and  pounded 
them  for  food. 

My  little  boys  never  complained,  but  Theo,  who 
had  insisted  upon  returning  to  me  from  his  uncle's 
safe  home  in  the  country,  said  one  day :  "  Mamma, 
I  have  a  queer  feeling  in  my  stomach  !  Oh,  no !  it 
doesn't  ache  the  least  bit,  but  it  feels  like  a  nutmeg 
grater." 

Poor  little  laddie  !  His  machinery  needed  oiling. 
And  pretty  soon  his  small  brother  fell  ill  with  fever. 
My  blessed  Dr.  Withers  obtained  a  permit  for  me 
to  get  a  pint  of  soup  every  day  from  the  hospital, 
and  one  day  there  was  a  joyful  discovery.  In  the 
soup  was  a  drumstick  of  chicken  ! 

"  I  cert'nly  hope  I'll  not  get  well,"  the  little  man 
shocked  me  by  saying. 

"  Oh,  is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?  "  I  sighed. 

"  Why,"  he  replied, "my  soup  will  be  stopped  if  I 
get  better!" 

Just  at  this  juncture,  when  things  were  as  bad  as 
could  be,  my  husband  brought  home  to  tea  the  Hon. 
Pierre  Soule,  General  D.  H.  Hill,  and  General  Long- 


My  Day  205 

street.  I  had  bread  and  a  little  tea,  the  latter  served  in 
a  yellow  pitcher  without  a  handle.  Mrs.  Meade,  hear 
ing  of  my  necessity,  sent  me  a  small  piece  of  bacon.  I 
had  known  Mr.  Soule  in  Washington  society  —  of 
all  men  the  most  fastidious,  most  polished.  When 
we  assembled  around  the  table,  I  lifted  my  hot  pit 
cher  by  means  of  a  napkin,  and  offered  my  tea,  pure 
and  simple,  allowing  the  guests  to  use  their  discretion 
in  regard  to  a  spoonful  or  two  of  dark  brown 
sugar. 

"  This  is  a  great  luxury,  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Soule,  with  one  of  his  gracious  bows,  "  a  good  cup 
of  tea." 

We  talked  that  night  of  all  that  was  going  wrong 
with  our  country,  of  the  good  men  who  were  con 
stantly  relieved  of  their  commands,  of  all  the  mis 
takes  we  were  making. 

"  Mistakes ! "  said  General  Hill,  bringing  his 
clenched  fist  down  upon  the  table,  "  I  could  forgive 
mistakes  !  I  cannot  forgive  lies  !  I  could  get  along 
if  we  could  only,  only  ever  learn  the  truth,  the  real 
truth."  But  he  was  very  personal  and  used  much 
stronger  words  than  these. 

The  pictures  my  general  had  brought  from  Eu 
rope  had  been  sent  early  from  Washington  to 
Petersburg,  and  I  had  opened  one  of  the  boxes 
which  contained  a  large  etching  of  Michelangelo's 
"  Last  Judgment."  General  Longstreet  stood  long 
before  this  picture,  as  it  hung  in  our  living  room. 
Turning  to  Mr.  Soule  and  General  Hill  he  ex 
claimed  :  f<  Oh,  what  does  it  all  signify  ?  Here  is 
the  end  for  every  one  of  us  !  "  —  the  end  of  all  the 


206  My  Day 

strife,  the  bloodshed,  the  bitterness — the  final  vic 
tory  or  defeat. 

They  talked  and  talked,  these  veterans  and  the 
charming,  accomplished  diplomat,  until  one  of  them 
inquired  the  hour.  I  raised  a  curtain. 

"  Gentlemen,"  I  said,  "  the  sun  is  rising.  You 
must  now  breakfast  with  us."  They  declined.  They 
had  supped  ! 

In  the  terrible  fight  at  Port  Walthall  near 
Petersburg,  my  husband  rendered  essential  service. 
Among  the  few  papers  I  preserved  in  a  secret 
drawer  of  the  only  trunk  I  saved,  were  two,  one 
signed  Bushrod  Johnson,  the  other  D.  H.  Hill. 
The  latter  says  :  "  The  victory  at  Walthall  Junc 
tion  was  greatly  due  to  General  Roger  A.  Pryor. 
But  for  him  it  is  probable  we  might  have  been  sur 
prised  and  defeated."  The  other  from  General 
Johnson  runs  at  length :  "  At  the  most  critical 
juncture  General  Roger  A.  Pryor  rendered  me 
most  valuable  service,  displaying  great  zeal,  energy, 
and  gallantry  in  reconnoitring  the  positions  of  the 
enemy,  arranging  my  line  of  battle,  and  rendering 
successful  the  operations  and  movements  of  the 
conflict."  At  General  Johnson's  request  my  hus 
band  served  with  him  during  the  midsummer.  Such 
letters  I  have  in  lieu  of  medal  or  ribbon,  —  a  part 
only  of  much  of  similar  nature ;  but  less  was 
given  to  many  a  man  who  as  fully  deserved 
recognition. 

Having  been  in  active  service  in  all  the  events 
around  Petersburg,  my  husband  was  now  requested 
by  General  Lee  to  take  with  him  a  small  squad 


My  Day  207 

of  men,  and  learn  something  of  the  movements 
of  the  enemy. 

"  Grant  knows  all  about  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
know  too  little  about  Grant.  You  were  a  school 
boy  here,  General,  and  have  hunted  in  all  the  by 
paths  around  Petersburg.  Knowing  the  country 
better  than  any  of  us,  you  are  the  best  man  for  this 
important  duty.'* 

Accordingly,  armed  with  a  pass  from  General 
Lee,  my  husband  set  forth  on  his  perilous  scouting 
expeditions,  sometimes  being  absent  a  week  at  a 
time.  During  these  scouting  trips  he  had  had  ad 
ventures,  narrow  escapes,  and  also  some  opportuni 
ties  for  gratifying,  what  has  ever  been  the  controlling 
principle  of  his  nature,  the  desire  to  help  the  un 
fortunate.  Once  he  brought  me  early  in  the  morn 
ing  three  or  four  prisoners  under  guard,  and  as  he 
passed  me  on  his  way  to  snatch  an  hour's  sleep,  he 
calmly  ordered,  "  Be  sure  to  feed  them  well." 

I  find  in  an  unpublished  diary  of  Charles  Camp 
bell,  the  historian,  this  item  :  "  I  met  Mrs.  Pryor 
on  her  way  to  the  commissary,  with  a  small  tin  pail 
in  her  hand.  She  said  she  was  going  for  her  daily 
ration  of  meal."  This  "  daily  ration  "  for  which  I 
paid  three  dollars  was  all  I  had,  except  beans  and 
sorghum,  and  John  openly  rebelled  when  ordered 
to  serve  it  in  loaves  to  my  prisoners.  However,  he 
was  overruled,  and  with  perfect  good  humor  my 
little  boys  acquiesced,  gave  up  their  own  breakfast, 
and  served  the  prisoners. 

No  farmer  dared  venture  within  the  lines  —  no 
fish  were  in  the  streams,  no  game  in  the  woods 


ao8  My  Day 

around  the  town.  The  cannonading  had  driven 
them  away.  There  was  no  longer  a  market  in 
Petersburg.  I  once,  under  shell  fire,  visited  the 
Old  Market.  At  the  end  of  a  table  upon  which 
cakes  and  jugs  of  sorghum  molasses  were  exhibited, 
an  aged  negro  offered  a  frozen  cabbage  ! 

The  famine  moved  on  apace,  but  its  twin  sister, 
fever,  rarely  visited  us.  Never  had  Petersburg 
been  so  healthy.  Every  particle  of  animal  or  vege 
table  food  was  consumed,  and  the  streets  were 
clean.  Flocks  of  pigeons  would  follow  the  children 
who  were  eating  bread  or  crackers.  Finally  the 
pigeons  vanished,  having  been  themselves  eaten. 
Rats  and  mice  disappeared.  The  poor  cats  stag 
gered  about  the  streets,  and  began  to  die  of  hunger. 
At  times  meal  was  the  only  article  attainable,  except 
by  the  rich.  An  ounce  of  meat  daily  was  consid 
ered  an  abundant  ration  for  each  member  of  the 
family.  To  keep  food  of  any  kind  was  impossible 
—  cows,  pigs,  bacon,  flour,  everything  was  stolen, 
and  even  sitting  hens  were  taken  from  the  nest. 

In  the  presence  of  such  facts  as  these  General  Lee 
was  able  to  report  that  nearly  every  regiment  in  his 
army  had  reenlisted  —  and  for  the  war  !  And  very 
soon  he  also  reported  that  the  army  was  out  of  meat 
and  had  but  one  day's  rations  of  bread  !  One  of 
our  papers  copied  the  following  from  the  Mobile 
Advertiser :  — 

"  In  General  Lee's  tent  meat  is  eaten  but  twice  a  week, 
the  general  not  allowing  it  oftener,  because  he  believes 
indulgence  in  meat  to  be  criminal  in  the  present  strait 
ened  condition  of  the  country.  His  ordinary  dinner  con- 


GENERAL  ROBERT  E.  LEE  IN  1861. 


My  Day  209 

sists  of  a  head  of  cabbage  boiled  in  salt  water  and  a  pone 
of  corn  bread.  Having  invited  a  number  of  gentlemen  to 
dine  with  him,  General  Lee,  in  a  fit  of  extravagance, 
ordered  a  sumptuous  repast  of  bacon  and  cabbage.  The 
dinner  was  served,  and  behold,  a  great  sea  of  cabbage  and 
a  small  island  of  bacon,  or  c  middling,'  about  four  inches 
long  and  two  inches  across.  The  guests,  with  commend 
able  politeness,  unanimously  declined  the  bacon,  and  it  re 
mained  in  the  dish  untouched.  Next  day  General  Lee, 
remembering  the  delicate  titbit  which  had  been  so  provi 
dentially  preserved,  ordered  his  servant  to  bring  that  '  mid 
dling.'  The  man  hesitated,  scratched  his  head,  and  finally 
owned  up  :  — 

u  '  Marse  Robert,  —  de  facj  is,  —  dat  ar  middlin'  was 
borrowed  middlin'.  We-all  didn'  have  no  middlin'.  I  done 
paid  it  back  to  de  place  whar  I  got  it  fum.' 

"  General  Lee  heaved  a  sigh  of  disappointment,  and 
pitched  into  the  cabbage." 

Early  in  the  autumn  flour  sold  for  $1500  a 
barrel,  bacon  $20  a  pound,  beef  ditto,  a  chicken 
could  be  bought  for  $50,  shad  $5.50  a  pair  —  the 
head  of  a  bullock,  horns  and  all,  could  be  purchased, 
as  a  favor,  from  the  commissary  for  $5.  Gro 
ceries  soared  out  of  sight.  I  once  counted  in  a 
soldier's  ration  eight  grains  of  coffee  !  Little  by 
little  I  drew  from  the  belt  of  gold  I  wore  around 
my  waist,  receiving  towards  the  last  one  hundred 
dollars  for  one  dollar  in  gold.  These  were  anxious 
times,  difficult  times  —  but  they  were  not  the  worst 
times  !  We  still  had  hope.  Any  day,  any  hour 
might  bring  us  victory  and  consequently  relief.  We 
had  the  blessed  boon  of  comradeship.  Una  et  com 
mune  periclumy  una  salus !  Noble  spirits  were  all 


2io  My  Day 

around  us,  strong  in  faith  and  hope.  Discouraging 
words  were  never  uttered  when  we  talked  together. 

My  neighbor,  Mrs.  Meade  and  her  daughters, 
were  delightful  friends,  cheerful  always.  Soldiers 
were  not  allowed  to  wander  about  the  streets,  but 
one  day  I  saw  Mary  Meade  pause  at  her  gate,  just 
across  the  narrow  street,  and  speak  to  one  of  them. 
"  Do  you  know  what  he  was  asking  me  ?  "  she  ran 
over  to  say.  "  Isn't  it  too  funny  ?  A  soldier  with 
his  gun  on  his  shoulder  wanted  to  know  if  we  kept 
a  dog,  and  if  he  could  safely  take  a  drink  from  the 
well !  "  A  number  of  Englishmen  hung  about  our 
camps  near  the  close  of  the  war.  They  were  very 
agreeable,  and  while  with  us  intensely  Southern.  I 
delighted  in  one  who  had  hired  rooms  in  Mrs. 
Meade's  "  office "  opposite.  He  was  so  ardent  a 
secessionist  we  honored  him  with  the  usual  Southern 
title  of  "  Colonel."  He  came  over  one  morning  in 
great  indignation :  "  Oh,  I  say,  it's  a  bit  beastly  of 
General  Grant  to  frighten  Mrs.  Meade  !  It's  ajolly 
shame  to  fire  big  shells  into  a  lady's  garden." 

"  What  would  you  do,  Colonel,  if  your  chimney 
should  be  knocked  off  as  mine  was  last  week  ?  " 

«  Well,"  —  thoughtfully,  —  "  I  guess  I'd  toddle." 

The  time  came  when  I  felt  that  I  could  no  longer 
endure  the  strain  of  being  perpetually  under  fire, 
and  to  my  great  relief,  my  brother-in-law,  Robert 
Mcllwaine,  removed  his  family  to  North  Carolina, 
and  placed  Cottage  Farm,  three  miles  distant  from 
the  city,  at  my  disposal.  He  had  left  a  piano  and 
some  furniture  in  the  house,  and  was  glad  to  have 
me  live  in  it. 


My  Day  211 

I  had  been  in  this  refuge  only  a  few  days,  happy 
in  the  blessed  respite  from  danger,  when  I  learned 
that  General  Lee  had  established  his  headquarters  a 
short  distance  from  us. 

The  whole  face  of  the  earth  seemed  to  change  im 
mediately.  Army  wagons  crawled  unceasingly  in  a 
fog  of  dust  along  the  highroad,  just  in  front  of  our 
gate.  All  was  stir  and  life  in  the  rear,  where  there 
was  another  country  road,  and  a  short  road  connect 
ing  the  two  passed  immediately  by  the  well  near 
our  house.  This,  too,  was  constantly  travelled  ;  the 
whir  of  the  well-wheel  never  seemed  to  pause,  day 
or  night.  We  soon  had  pleasant  visitors,  General 
A.  P.  Hill,  Colonel  William  Pegram,  General 
Walker,  General  Wilcox,  and  others.  General  Wil- 
cox,  an  old  friend  and  comrade,  craved  permission 
to  make  his  headquarters  on  the  green  lawn  in  the 
rear  of  the  house,  and  my  husband  rejoiced  at  his 
presence  and  protection  for  our  little  family. 

In  less  than  twenty-four  hours  I  found  myself  in 
the  centre  of  a  camp.  The  white  tents  of  General 
Wilcox's  staff-officers  were  stretched  close  to  the 
door.  "  We  are  here  for  eight  years  —  not  a  day 
less,"  said  my  father,  and  he  fully  believed  it.  This 
being  the  case,  we  brought  all  our  boxes  from  town, 
unpacked  the  library  and  set  it  up  on  shelves,  un 
packed  and  hung  our  pictures.  I  hung  the 
"  Madonna  della  Seggiola  "  over  the  mantel  in  the 
parlor  and  Guide's  "  Aurora "  over  the  piano. 
There  was  a  baby  house  in  one  of  the  boxes  and  a 
trunk  of  evening  dresses  at  which  I  did  not  even 
glance,  but  stored  in  the  cellar.  Everything  looked 


212  My  Day 

so  cosey  and  homelike,  we  were  happier  than  we 
had  been  in  a  long  time.  That  my  infant  should 
not  starve,  I  bought  a  little  cow,  Rose,  from  a  small 
planter  in  the  neighborhood,  for  a  liberal  sum  in 
gold  from  my  belt.  "  We  mus'  all  help  one  an 
other  these  times,"  he  observed  complacently.  Rose 
was  a  great  treasure.  My  general's  horse,  Jubal 
Early,  was  required  to  share  his  rations  with  her  — 
indeed,  poor  Jubal's  allowance  of  corn  was  sometimes 
beaten  into  hominy  for  all  of  us.  John  at  once 
built  a  shelter  close  to  his  own  room  for  Rose, 
"  'cause  I  knows  soldiers  !  They  gits  up  fo'  day 
and  milk  yo'  cow  right  under  yo'  eyelids.  When 
we-all  was  in  Pennsylvania,  the  ole  Dutch  farmers 
used  to  give  Gen'al  Lee  Hail  Columbia  'cause  his 
soldiers  milked  their  cows.  But  Lawd  !  Gen'al  Lee 
couldn'  help  it !  He  could  keep 'em  from  stealin' 
horses,  but  the  queen  of  England  herself  couldn' 
stop  a  soldier  when  he  hankers  after  milk.  An'  he 
don't  need  no  pail,  neither;  he  can  milk  in  his  can 
teen  an'  never  spill  a  drop." 

John  and  the  boys  were  in  fine  spirits.  They 
laid  plans  for  chickens,  pigeons,  and  pigs  —  none  of 
which  were  realized,  except  the  latter,  which  I  per 
suaded  a  butcher  to  give  me  for  one  or  two  of  the 
general's  silk  vests.  As  we  were  to  be  here  "  for 
eight  years,  no  less,"  it  behooved  me  to  look  after 
the  little  boys'  education.  School  books  were  found 
for  them.  I  knew  "  small  Latin  and  less  Greek," 
but  I  gravely  heard  them  recite  lessons  in  the  former ; 
and  they  never  discovered  the  midnight  darkness  of 
my  mind  as  to  mathematics.  As  to  the  pigs,  I  had 


My  Day  213 

almost  obtained  my  own  consent  to  convert  them 
into  sausages  when  I  was  spared  the  pain  of  signing 
their  death  warrant  by  their  running  away  ! 

I  knew  nothing  of  the  strong  line  of  fortifications 
which  General  Grant  was  building  at  the  back  of 
the  farm,  fortifications  strengthened  by  forts  at  short 
intervals.  Our  own  line  —  visible  from  the  garden 
—  had  fewer  forts,  two  of  which,  Fort  Gregg  and 
Battery  45,  protected  our  immediate  neighborhood. 
These  forts  occasionally  answered  a  challenge,  but 
there  was  no  attempt  at  a  sally  on  either  side. 

The  most  painful  circumstance  connected  with 
our  position  was  the  picket  firing  at  night,  incessant, 
like  the  dropping  of  hail,  and  harrowing  from  the 
apprehension  that  many  a  man  fell  from  the  fire  of  a 
picket.  But,  perhaps  to  reassure  me,  Captain  Lind 
say  and  Captain  Clover,  of  General  Wilcox's  staff, 
declared  that  "  pickets  have  a  good  time.  They 
fire,  yes,  for  that  is  their  business  ;  but  while  they 
load  for  the  next  volley,  one  will  call  out,  £  Hello, 
Reb,'  be  answered,  c  Hello,  Yank,'  and  little  parcels 
of  coffee  are  thrown  across  in  exchange  for  a  plug  of 
tobacco."  After  accepting  this  fiction  I  could  have 
made  myself  easy,  but  for  my  constant  anxiety 
about  the  safety  of  my  dear  general.  He  was  now 
employed  day  and  night,  often  in  peril,  gleaning 
from  every  possible  source  information  for  General 
Lee.  While  absent  on  one  of  these  scouting  trips, 
he  once  met  a  lady  who,  with  her  children,  was  vainly 
trying  to  pass  through  the  lines  that  she  might  re 
turn  to  her  home  at  the  North.  Two  years  ago  he 
received  the  following  pleasant  letter  :  — 


214  My  Day 


"  REPRESENTATIVE  HALL, 

"  29th  SESSION 
"  NEBRASKA  LEGISLATURE. 

"LINCOLN,  3/igth,  1907. 
u  My  dear  Judge  Pryor, 

"  I  cannot  resist  the  desire  I  have  to  write  you  concerning 
an  incident  of  the  war,  in  which  you  played  such  a  noble 
and  splendid  part.  You  may  have  forgotten  Mrs.  Mary  C. 
Burgess,  whom,  with  three  little  children,  you  escorted  with 
much  personal  risk  through  from  the  Confederate  picket 
line  to  the  Union  line.  You  took  two  scouts.  Each  took 
a  child  on  his  horse,  Mrs.  Burgess  walking.  You  stopped 
in  a  ravine  and  told  Mrs.  Burgess  to  go  into  the  open  field 
to  the  right  where  she  would  see  a  man  on  a  gray  horse  to 
the  left,  she  to  signal  this  man,  who  would  command  her 
to  come  to  him.  She  did  so,  and  then  came  back  after  the 
children.  You  bade  Mrs.  Burgess  good-by.  She  took 
the  children  and  went  again  to  the  man  on  horseback. 
He  took  her  to  General  Meade's  headquarters,  where  she  got 
orders  to  go  to  City  Point,  where  she  was  detained  two  weeks, 
General  Grant  being  absent,  and  she  could  go  no  farther 
without  General  Grant's  orders.  You  will  remember 
how  Mrs.  Burgess  was  sent  to  Mrs.  Cumming's  house 
with  an  escort  of  cavalry  and  infantry  with  a  flag  of  truce. 
They  were  suspicious  of  the  attention  paid  Mrs.  Burgess, 
and  at  first  were  inclined  to  treat  her  as  a  spy.  But  after 
many  hardships  Mrs.  Burgess  finally  reached  New  York 
and  friends.  Mrs.  Burgess  is  my  mother-in-law ;  is  living 
with  me ;  is  the  same  dignified,  cultivated  lady  whom  you 
may  remember.  She  is  now  in  her  seventy-fourth  year. 
The  splendid  acts  of  kindness  shown  by  you  to  her  and  the 
three  children  no  doubt  saved  their  lives.  Mother  Burgess 
sits  here  and  wants  you  to  know  you  occupy  a  lifelong 
place  in  her  memory.  For  myself  and  all  the  family,  I 


My  Day  215 

wish  to  say  to  you,  Judge  Pryor,  that  the  English  language 
does  not  contain  words  to  express  our  admiration  for  your 
bravery,  and  our  thankfulness  to  you  for  protecting  the 
lone  woman  and  children  and  the  magnificent  chivalry  that 
prompted  you  like  a  true  knight,  which  you  are,  to  go  to 
their  rescue.  I  hope  to  have  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  see 
ing  you  and  shaking  your  hand.  With  kindest  of  personal 
regard  to  you  and  all  dear  to  you,  I  beg  to  remain, 
"  Yours  sincerely, 

"H.  C.  M.  BURGESS, 
"  1568  South  20th  St. 

"  Lincoln,  Neb." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE  morning  of  November  29,  1864,  found 
me  comfortably  seated  at  my  breakfast  table 
with  my  little  boys  and  my  small  brother, 
Campbell  Pryor.  My  venerable  father.  Dr.  Pryor, 
had  departed  on  his  daily  rounds  to  visit  the  sick 
and  wounded  in  the  hospitals,  and  my  husband  was 
away  on  special  duty  for  General  Lee.  John  had 
reported  early  with  one  cupful  of  milk  —  all  that 
little  Rose,  with  her  slender  rations,  was  capable  of 
yielding.  This  we  had  boiled  with  parched  corn 
and  sweetened  with  sorghum  molasses.  With  per 
fect  biscuits  well  beaten  but  unmixed  with  lard  or 
butter  we  made  a  breakfast  with  which  we  were  con 
tented.  I  indulged  myself  in  a  long  letter  to  my 
dear  aunt,  telling  her  of  our  comfortable  home  and 
the  prospect  of  comparative  quiet  with  the  army  soon 
to  go  into  winter  quarters.  I  had  addressed  my 
letter  and  was  about  to  seal  it  when  General  Wilcox 
entered,  and  gently  told  me  that  my  husband  had 
been  captured  the  day  before ! 

I  remember  perfectly  that  I  sat  for  a  moment 
stunned  into  silence,  and  then  quietly  stamped  my 
letter !  I  would  spare  my  aunt  the  sad  news  for 
a  while.  In  a  few  minutes  clanking  spurs  at  the 
door  announced  the  presence  of  a  staff-officer. 

"  Madam,"  he  said  respectfully,  "  General  Lee 
sends  you  his  affectionate  sympathies." 

216 


My  Day  217 

Through  the  window  I  saw  General  Lee  on  his 
horse.  Traveller,  standing  at  the  well.  He  waited 
until  his  messenger  returned  —  I  was  too  much  over 
come  to  speak  —  and  then  rode  slowly  towards  the 
lines. 

I  had  small  hope  of  the  speedy  exchange  promised 
me  by  General  Wilcox.  From  day  to  day  he  re 
ported  the  efforts  made  for  my  husband's  release  and 
their  failure.  General  Lee  authorized  a  letter  to 
General  Meade,  detailing  the  circumstances  of  his 
capture  and  requesting  his  release.  General  Meade 
promptly  refused  to  release  him. 

We  naturally  looked  to  the  enemy  for  all  infor 
mation,  and  although  my  husband  had  written  me  a 
pencilled  note  at  City  Point  on  the  inside  of  a  Con 
federate  envelope,  and  had  implored  his  guard  (a 
Federal  officer)  to  have  it  inserted  in  a  New  York 
paper,  I  did  not  receive  it  until  thirty-one  years 
afterward.  We  soon  had  news,  however,  through  a 
despatch  from  the  Northern  army  to  the  New 
York  Herald.  The  paper  of  November  30,  1864, 
contained  the  following  :  — 

"  Yesterday  a  rebel  officer  made  his  appearance  in 
front  of  our  lines,  waving  a  paper  for  exchange.  The 
officer  in  charge  of  the  picket,  suddenly  remember 
ing  that  Major  Burrage,  of  the  Thirty-sixth  Massa 
chusetts,  was  taken  prisoner  some  time  since  by  the 
enemy  while  on  a  similar  errand, c  gobbled*  the  rebel, 
who  proved  to  be  the  famous  Roger  A.  Pryor,  ex- 
member  of  Congress  and  ex-brigadier-general  of 
Jeff  Davis's  army.  He  protested  vehemently  against 
what  he  styled  c  a  flagrant  breach  of  faith  '  on  our 


2i 8  My  Day 

part.  He  was  assured  he  was  taken  in  retaliation 
for  like  conduct  on  the  part  of  his  friends,  and  sent 
to  General  Meade's  headquarters  for  further  dis 
position." 

Press  despatch  to  Herald,  November  30,  from 
Washington  :  "  Roger  A.  Pryor  has  been  brought 
to  Washington  and  committed  to  the  old  Capitol 
Prison."  Later  a  personal  through  the  New  Tork 
News  reached  me  :  "  Your  husband  is  in  Fort  Lafay 
ette,  where  a  friend  and  relative  is  permitted  to  visit 
him,  (signed)  Mary  Rhodes."  From  an  enormous 
quantity  of  letters,  newspaper  extracts,  book  notices, 
military  reports,  etc.,  describing  his  capture  written 
by  the  men  who  made  it  and  witnessed  it,  I  select  an 
interesting  one,  not  hitherto  published,  which  my 
husband  received  recently  through  my  brother,  the 
Mayor  of  Bristol. 

"BRISTOL,  TENN.,  July  10,  1908. 
"  HON.  W.  L.  RICE, 
"BRISTOL,  VA. 
"  My  dear  Mayor  :  — 

"I  very  cheerfully  comply  with  your  request  to  give  you 
a  short  sketch  of  the  circumstances  which  led  to  my  selec 
tion  as  the  Officer  to  convey  Gen.  R.  A.  Pryor  to  Fort 
Warren,  Mass.,  in  1864.  As  an  aid  to  my  memory  I  have 
hunted  over  my  old  Army  papers,  and  have  found  the  orig 
inal  Order  from  the  Military  Governor  of  Washington, 
D.C.,  and  also  the  receipt  given  me  by  Gen.  Pryor  for  money 
which  I  turned  over  to  him,  on  delivering  him  to  the  Com 
mandant  of  Fort  Lafayette,  N.  Y.  Harbor,  to  which  place 
my  orders  were  afterwards  changed  and  which  papers  I 
herewith  attach. 

"In  November  of  1864  my  Regiment,  the  39th  Mass., 


My  Day  219 

was  serving  in  the  defences  of  Washington,  and  I  had  been 
detailed  as  an  Aid  on  the  staff  of  Gen.  Martindale,  then 
Commanding  the  Military  District  of  Washington.  Hav 
ing  received  a  Leave  of  Absence  to  visit  my  home  in  Mass., 
Col.  T.  McGowan,  then  Adjt.  General  of  the  District, 
kindly  offered  to  place  a  prisoner  in  my  charge  and  thus  save 
to  me  my  transportation.  I  did  not  know  who  my  pris 
oner  was  to  be,  until  my  orders  were  received,  and  naturally 
felt  pleased  to  find  that  my  charge  was  to  be  Gen.  Roger 
A.  Pryor,  whom  I  had  known  by  reputation  from  my  boy 
hood  up. 

"  Though  my  Orders  read  that  I  was  to  assist  Brig.  Gen 
eral  Wessels,  I  saw  nothing  of  that  gentleman  until  after 
General  Pryor  and  myself  had  reached  and  taken  seats  in 
the  train.  Then  Gen.  Wessels  made  himself  known,  and 
asked  an  introduction  to  Gen.  Pryor. 

"It  was  9.30  at  night  when  left  Washington,  and  we 
did  not  reach  New  York  until  daylight  next  morning.  When 
I  received  my  prisoner  at  the  Old  Capitol  Prison,  I  recall 
that  the  Supt.,  one  Colonel  Wood  advised  me  to  iron  my 
charge,  alleging  that  he  was  a  dangerous  man  ;  but  this  I 
refused  to  do,  taking  only  Gen.  Pryor's  verbal  parole  that 
he  would  not  attempt  to  escape  while  in  my  custody. 
This  Gen.  Pryor  cheerfully  gave,  and  religiously  kept 
while  with  me.  On  arrival  at  Jersey  City  we  became  in 
some  way  separated  from  Gen.  Wessels,  and  crossed  over  by 
the  Cortlandt  Street  Ferry  to  New  York.  As  the  hour  was 
early  we  stopped  for  breakfast  at  the  Courtland  Street  Hotel, 
then  quite  a  pretentious  Hostelry.  After  breakfast,  and 
while  preparing  to  leave  the  Hotel  for  the  Qr.  Mas.  Gen. 
Dept.  where  I  was  to  find  my  orders  and  transportation,  I 
was  surprised  to  find  that  the  Rotunda  of  the  Hotel  was 
packed,  evidently  with  friends  of  Gen.  Pryor  and  for  a  short 
time  it  looked  as  if  my  prisoner  would  be  taken  from  me, 
but  the  Gen.  directing  me  to  take  his  arm,  we  passed  through 


22O  My  Day 

without  trouble.  At  the  Quarter  Master  Genl's  I  found 
my  orders  changed,  and  I  was  directed  to  convey  my  pris 
oner  to  Fort  Lafayette  New  York  Harbor  in  place  of  Fort 
Warren  Boston  Harbor.  On  arrival  at  Fort  Lafayette  we 
found  Brig.  Gen.  Wessels  awaiting  us,  and  with  him  we 
proceeded  across  the  ferry  turning  over  our  prisoner  to 
Major  Burke,  Commandant  at  that  Fort,  taking  his  receipt 
therefor. 

"  At  this  distance  of  time  (44  years)  it  would  seem  that 
these  occurrences  must  have  passed  from  my  memory,  but 
I  remember  with  distinctness  the  appearance  of  the  Gen 
eral,  the  incident  at  the  Old  Capitol,  the  crowd  in  the 
Rotunda  of  the  Cortlandt  Hotel,  the  miraculous  passage 
through  the  sea  of c  Red'  faces  therein,  and  the  appearance  of 
Major  Paddy  Burke  (a  very  old  Officer  of  the  Old  Army) 
to  whose  custody  I  transferred  my  charge.  I  recall  also 
the  kind  expressions  of  regard  uttered  by  General  Pryor  as 
we  shook  hands  at  parting  and  the  promise  he  extracted  that 
should  it  be  my  fate  to  be  wounded  or  a  prisoner  in  Rich 
mond,  during  the  war,  that  I  would  make  myself  known  to 
his  family  there  residing,  who  would  respond  to  any  appeal 
made  by  me.  It  was  my  fortune  to  pass  through  the  re 
maining  months  of  the  war  without  being  captured,  and 
never  severely  wounded,  so  I  did  not  have  to  call  on  the 
generosity  of  a  gallant  foe,  and  I  presume  the  memory  of 
that  journey  to  New  York,  and  the  memory  of  the  stripling 
Officer  who  accompanied  him  on  that  journey,  long  ago 
passed  from  Judge  Pryor's  memory,  but  I  recall  it  as  a 
pleasant  episode  in  a  boy's  life  and  I  would  wish,  that  in 
writing  to  the  Judge,  you  would  kindly  convey  to  him  my 
sincere  congratulations  on  the  honors  he  has  attained,  and 
the  respect  and  love  which  he  has  received  in  his  declining 
years,  and  with  kindest  wishes  to  yourself,  believe  me, 

"  Very  truly  yours, 
WGS-OMH  "  WM.  G.  SHEEN." 


My  Day  221 

Mr.  Sheen  kindly  sent  my  brother  the  order  to 
which  he  alludes  :  — 


"  HEADQUARTERS  MILITARY  DISTRICT  OF  WASHINGTON 
"PROVOST  MARSHAL'S  OFFICE 

"WASHINGTON,  D.C.,  Nov.  agth,  1864. 
"Special  Orders 
No.  21 7 

"  Extract 

"  It  is  hereby  Ordered !  That  Brigadier  Gen'l,  H.  W. 
Wessels  assisted  by  Lieut.  Wm.  G.  Sheen  will  proceed  to 
Old  Capital  Prison  and  taken  in  charge  the  following 
named  prisoner  : 

"  Roger  A.  Pryor     Jth  Fa :    Car 

and  deliver  him  together  with  the  accompany  papers  to  the 
Commanding  Officer  at  Fort  Warren  Boston  Harbor  take 
a  receipt  therefore  and  report  action  at  these  Head  Quarters. 
"  The  Quartermaster  Department  will  furnish  the  neces 
sary  transportation. 

"  By  Command  of  Col.  M.  N.  WISERVELL, 

"  Military  Governor. 
"  GEO.  R.  WALBRIDGE, 
"  Capt  &  Asst  Pro.  Marshal." 

It  will  be  perceived  by  the  above  that  the  Federal 
officers  granted  their  captured  private  the  honor  of 
escort  by  a  Federal  general  —  Brigadier-general 
H.  W.  Wessels  —  and  were  inclined  to  confer  upon 
him  the  further  distinction  of  "irons." 

While  he  was  detained  in  Washington,  Major 
Leary  (or  Captain)  discovered  a  plot  to  assassinate 
him,  which  he  revealed  to  the  prisoner,  arranging 


222  My  Day 

for  his  greater  safety.  Before  he  reached  Fort 
Lafayette  it  appears  he  was  threatened  with  assassi 
nation  and  also  rescue.  Some  kind  friend  in  Wash 
ington  thrust  into  his  overcoat  pocket  a  bottle  of 
brandy.  It  was  taken  from  him  when  his  pockets 
were  searched,  along  with  his  letters  and  pistols, 
but  returned  by  a  Federal  officer,  who  remarked,  — 
recognizing  the  touch  of  nature  which  establishes 
the  kinship  of  all  men  in  all  nations,  —  "Keep  it, 
General !  There's  an  almighty  sight  of  comfort  in 
a  bottle  of  brandy."  The  pistols  were  not  returned 
and,  along  with  an  army  cape,  are  preserved  —  I  have 
understood — in  a  museum  of  war  relics  at  Concord, 
Mass. 

A  month  elapsed  before  all  the  forms  required  by 
military  law  could  be  observed  in  sending  the  letters 
of  prisoners  through  the  lines.  At  last  Colonel 
Ould  forwarded  to  me  a  brief  assurance  of  my  dear 
captive's  welfare.  He  was  confined  in  a  casemate 
with  twelve  other  prisoners.  A  grate  held  a  small 
quantity  of  coal,  and  on  this  fire  the  captive  soldiers 
cooked  their  slender  rations  of  meat.  Their  bread 
was  furnished  them  from  a  baker.  They  lay  upon 
straw  mats  on  the  floor.  They  were  glad  of  the 
rule  compelling  them  to  fetch  up  their  fuel  from  the 
coal  cellar,  as  it  gave  opportunity  for  exercise. 
Once  daily  they  could  walk  upon  the  ramparts,  and 
my  husband's  eyes  turned  sadly  to  the  dim  outlines 
of  the  beautiful  city  where  he  had  often  been  an 
honored  guest.  The  veil  which  hid  from  him  so 
much  of  the  grief  and  struggle  of  the  future  hid  also 
the  reward.  Little  did  he  dream  he  should  admin- 


My  Day  223 

ister  justice  on  the  supreme  bench  of  the  mist-veiled 
city. 

The  captives  had  no  material  except  coal  and 
water,  but  of  the  former  they  manufactured  seal  rings 
(to  be  set  when  they  regained  their  liberty),  inlaying 
a  polished  ebony  surface  with  bits  from  a  silver  coin 
to  represent  tiny  Confederate  flags.  One  of  these 
was  given  to  my  general,  and  lost  in  the  great  hour 
of  losses.  With  the  coal  as  a  pencil,  the  prisoners 
indulged  in  caricatures  of  the  commandant.  Every 
morning  a  fresh  picture  on  the  whitewashed  wall  met 
his  eye  :  "  Burk  as  a  baby,"  "  Burk  in  his  first  pants," 
"  Burk  in  love/'  etc.,  etc.  The  reward  was  the  com 
mandant's  face  when  he  saw  them. 

After  my  husband's  release,  his  place  in  the  case 
mate  was  filled  by  a  "stylish"  young  officer  who 
refused,  absolutely,  to  submit  to  the  degradation  of 
bringing  up  his  quota  of  the  coal. 

"And  so,"  said  "old  Burk,"  "you  are  too 
great  a  man,  are  you,  to  fetch  your  coal?  I  had 
General  Pryor  here.  He  brought  up  his  coal !  I 
think,  sir,  you'll  bring  up  yours  !  " 

Before  I  take  leave  of  my  dear  captive  for  the 
winter,  I  must  record  his  unvarying  fortitude  under 
much  physical  discomfort,  cold,  and  food  which 
almost  destroyed  him.  On  the  2oth  of  December, 
I  received  a  brief  note  from  Fort  Lafayette :  "  My 
philosophy  begins  to  fail  somewhat.  In  vain  I  seek 
some  argument  of  consolation.  I  see  no  chance  of 
release.  The  conditions  of  my  imprisonment  cut 
me  off  from  every  resource  of  happiness." 

I   learned  afterward  that    he  was  ill,   and   often 


224  My  Day 

under  the  care  of  a  physician  during  the  winter,  but 
he  tried  to  write  as  encouragingly  as  possible.  In 
February,  however,  he  failed  in  health  and  spirits. 

"  I  am  as  contented  as  is  compatible  with  my  con 
dition.  My  mind  is  ill  at  ease  from  my  solicitude 
for  my  family  and  my  country.  Every  disaster 
pierces  my  soul  like  an  arrow ;  and  I  am  afflicted 
with  the  thought  that  I  am  denied  the  privilege  of 

contributing  even  my  mite  to  the  deliverance  of . 

How  I  envy  my  old  comrades  their  hardships  and 
privations  !  I  have  little  hope  of  an  early  exchange, 
and  you  may  be  assured  my  mistrust  is  not  without 
reason.  Except  some  special  instance  be  employed  to 
procure  my  release,  my  detention  here  will  be  indefinite. 
I  cannot  be  more  explicit.  While  this  is  my  con 
viction,  I  wish  it  distinctly  understood  that  I  would 
not  have  my  government  compromise  any  scruple 
for  the  sake  of  my  liberation.  I  am  prepared  for 
any  contingency  —  am  fortified  against  any  reverse 
of  fortune.'* 

The  problem  now  confronting  me  was  this  :  how 
could  I  maintain  my  children  and  myself?  My 
husband's  rations  were  discontinued.  I  sent  my 
general's  horse  far  into  the  interior,  to  be  boarded 
with  a  farmer  for  his  services,  as  I  had  no  possible 
means  of  feeding  him.  My  only  supply  of  food  was 
from  my  father's  ration  as  chaplain.  I  had  a  part 
of  a  barrel  of  flour  which  a  relative  had  sent  me  from 
a  county  now  cut  off  from  us.  Quite  a  number 
of  my  old  Washington  servants  had  followed  me,  to 
escape  the  shelling,  but  they  could  not,  of  course, 
look  to  me  for  their  support.  My  household  in- 


My  Day  225 

eluded  Eliza  Page,  Aunt  Jinny,  and  Uncle  Frank 
(old  people  and  old  settlers),  and  our  faithful  John. 
I  frankly  told  John  and  Eliza  my  condition,  but 
they  elected  to  remain. 

One  day  John  presented  himself  with  a  heart 
broken  countenance  and  a  drooping  attitude  of  deep 
dejection.  He  had  a  sad  story  to  tell.  The  agent 
of  the  estate  to  which  he  belonged  was  in  town,  and 
John  had  been  commissioned  to  inform  me  that  all 
the  slaves  belonging  to  the  estate  were  to  be 
immediately  transferred  to  a  Louisiana  plantation  for 
safety.  Those  of  us  who  had  hired  these  servants 
by  the  year  were  to  be  indemnified  for  our  loss. 

"  How  do  you  feel  about  it,  John  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  poor  fellow  broke  down.  "  It  will  kill  me," 
he  declared.  "  I'll  soon  die  on  that  plantation." 

All  his  affectionate,  faithful  service,  all  his  hard 
ships  for  our  sakes,  rushed  upon  my  memory.  I 
bade  him  put  me  in  communication  with  the  agent. 
I  found  that  I  could  save  the  boy  only  by  buying  him! 
A  large  sum  of  gold  was  named  as  the  price.  I  un 
buckled  my  girdle  and  counted  my  handful  of  gold 
—  one  hundred  and  six  dollars.  These  I  offered  to 
the  agent  (who  was  a  noted  negro  trader),  and 
although  it  was  far  short  of  his  figures,  he  made  out 
my  bill  of  sale  receipted.  Remembered  to-day,  this 
seems  a  wonderful  act  on  my  part.  At  the  time  it 
was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  ! 

John  soon  appeared  with  smiling  face  and  in 
formed  me  with  his  thanks  that  he  belonged  to 
me ! 

"  You    are  a  free  man,  John,"  I  said.     "  I  will 

Q 


226  My  Day 

make  out  your  papers  and  I  can  easily  arrange  for 
you  to  pass  the  lines." 

"  I  know  that,"  he  said.  "  Marse  Roger  has  often 
told  me  I  was  a  free  man.  I  never  will  leave  you 
till  I  die.  Papers,  indeed  !  Papers  nothing  !  I  be 
long  to  you  —  that's  where  I  belong." 

All  that  dreadful  winter  he  was  faithful  to  his 
promise,  cheerfully  bearing,  without  wages,  all  the 
privations  of  the  time.  Sometimes  when  the  last 
atom  of  food  was  gone,  he  would  ask  for  money, 
sally  forth  with  a  horse  and  a  light  cart,  and  bring  in 
peas  and  dried  apples.  Once  a  week  we  were  allowed 
to  purchase  the  head  of  a  bullock,  horns  and  all, 
from  the  commissary  for  the  exclusive  use  of  the 
servants —  I  would  have  starved  first  —  and  a  small 
ration  of  rice  was  allowed  us  by  the  government. 
A  one-armed  boy,  Alick,  who  had  been  reared  in  my 
father's  family,  now  wandered  in  to  find  his  old 
master,  and  installed  himself  as  my  father's  servant. 

The  question  that  pressed  upon  me  day  and  night 
was:  "How,  where,  can  I  earn  some  money?" 
to  be  answered  by  the  frightful  truth  that  there  could 
be  no  opening  for  me  anywhere,  because  I  could  not 
leave  my  children. 

One  wakeful  night,  while  I  was  revolving  these 
things,  a  sudden  thought  darted,  unbidden,  into  my 
sorely  harassed  mind  :  — 

"Why  not  open  the  trunk  from  Washington? 
Something  may  be  found  there  which  can  be  sold." 

At  an  early  hour  next  morning  John  and  Alick 
brought  the  trunk  from  the  cellar.  Aunt  Jinny, 
Eliza,  and  the  children  gathered  around.  It  proved 


My  Day  227 

to  be  full  of  my  old  Washington  finery.  There 
were  a  half-dozen  or  more  white  muslin  gowns, 
flounced  and  trimmed  with  Valenciennes  lace,  many 
yards  ;  there  was  a  rich  bayadere  silk  gown  trimmed 
fully  with  guipure  lace  ;  a  green  silk  dress  with  gold 
embroidery  ;  a  blue-and-silver  brocade,  —  these  last 
evening  gowns.  There  was  a  paper  box  containing 
the  shaded  roses  I  had  worn  to  Lady  Napier's  ball, 
the  ball  at  which  Mrs.  Douglas  and  I  had  dressed 
alike  in  gowns  of  tulle.  Another  box  held  the 
garniture  of  green  leaves  and  gold  grapes  which  had 
belonged  to  the  green  silk,  and  still  another  the  blue- 
and-silver  feathers  for  the  brocade.  An  opera  cloak 
trimmed  with  fur ;  a  long  purple  velvet  cloak ;  a 
purple  velvet  "  coalscuttle  "  bonnet,  trimmed  with 
white  roses ;  a  point-lace  handkerchief;  Valenciennes 
lace ;  Brussels  lace ;  and  in  the  bottom  of  the  trunk 
a  package  of  del  blue  zephyr,  awakening  reminis 
cences  of  a  passion  which  I  had  cherished  for  knitting 
shawls  and  "mariposas"  of  zephyr,  —  such  was  the 
collection  I  discovered. 

I  ripped  all  the  lace  from  the  evening  gowns  and 
made  large  collars  and  undersleeves  then  in  vogue. 
John  found  a  closed  dry-goods  store  willing  to  sell 
clean  paper  boxes. 

My  first  instalment  was  sent  to  Price's  store  in 
Richmond  and  promptly  sold.  I  sold  the  silk 
gowns  minus  the  costly  trimming;  but  when  I  had 
stripped  the  muslin  flounces  of  lace,  behold  raw 
edges  that  no  belle,  even  a  Confederate,  could  have 
worn.  I  rolled  the  edges  of  these  flounces  —  there 
were  ten  or  twelve  on  some  of  the  gowns  —  and 


228  My  Day 

edged  them  with  a  spiral  line  of  blue  zephyr.  I 
embroidered  a  dainty  vine  of  blue  forget-me-nots  on 
bodice  and  sleeves,  with  a  result  simply  ravishing  ! 

After  I  had  converted  all  my  laces  into  collars, 
cuffs,  and  sleeves,  and  had  sold  my  silk  gowns,  opera 
cloak,  and  point-lace  handkerchiefs,  I  devoted  my 
self  to  trimming  the  edges  of  the  artificial  flowers,  and 
separating  the  long  wreaths  and  garlands  into  clusters 
for  hats  and  bouquets  de  corsage. 

Eliza  and  the  children  delighted  in  this  phase  of  my 
work,  and  begged  to  assist,  —  all  except  Aunt  Jinny. 

"  Honey,"  she  said,  "  don't  you  think,  in  these 
times  of  trouble,  you  might  do  better  than  tempt 
them  po'  young  lambs  in  Richmond  to  worship  the 
golden  calf  and  bow  down  to  mammon  ?  We  prays 
not  to  be  led  into  temptation,  and  you  sho'ly  is 
leadin'  'em  into  vanity." 

"  Maybe  so,  Aunt  Jinny,  but  I  must  sell  all  I  can. 
We  have  to  be  clothed,  you  know,  war  or  no  war." 

"  Yes,  my  chile,  that's  so  ;  but  we're  told  to  con 
sider  the  lilies.  Gawd  Almighty  tells  us  we  must 
clothe  ourselves  in  the  garment  of  righteousness, 
and  He- 

"  You  always  'pear  to  be  mighty  intimate  with 
God  A'mighty,"  interrupted  Eliza,  in  great  wrath. 
"  Now  you  just  run  'long  home  an'  leave  my  mistis 
to  her  work.  How  would  you  look  with  nothin'  on 
but  a  garment  of  righteousness  ?  " 

When  I  had  stripped  the  pretty  silk  gowns  of 
their  trimmings,  what  could  be  done  with  the  gowns 
themselves?  Finally  I  resolved  to  embroider  them. 
The  zeal  with  which  I  worked  knew  no  pause.  I 


My  Day  229 

needed  no  rest.  General  Wilcox,  who  was  in  the 
saddle  until  a  late  hour  every  night,  said  to  me, 
"Your  candle  is  the  last  light  I  see  at  night  —  the 
first  in  the  morning." 

"  I  should  never  sleep,"  I  told  him. 

One  day  I  consulted  Eliza  about  the  manufacture 
of  a  Confederate  candle.  We  knew  how  to  make 
it  —  by  drawing  a  cotton  rope  many  times  through 
melted  wax,  and  then  winding  it  around  a  bottle. 
We  could  get  the  wax,  but  our  position  was  an  ex 
posed  one.  Soldiers'  tents  were  close  around  us, 
and  we  scrupulously  avoided  any  revelation  of  our 
needs,  lest  they  should  deny  themselves  for  our 
sakes.  Eliza  thought  we  might  avail  ourselves  of 
the  absence  of  the  officers,  and  finish  our  work  be 
fore  they  returned.  We  made  our  candle  behind 
the  kitchen;  but  that  night,  as  I  sat  sewing  beside 
its  dim,  glowworm  light,  I  heard  a  step  in  the  hall, 
and  a  hand,  hastily  thrust  out,  placed  a  brown  paper 
parcel  on  the  piano  near  the  door.  It  was  a  soldier's 
ration  of  candles  ! 

Of  course  I  could  not  find  shoes  for  my  boys. 
I  made  little  boots  of  carpet  lined  with  flannel  for 
my  baby.  A  pair  lasted  just  three  days.  A  large 
bronze  morocco  pocket-book  fell  into  my  hands,  of 
which  I  made  boots  for  my  little  Mary.  Alick,  — 
prowling  about  the  fields  to  gather  the  herb  "  life 
everlasting,"  of  which  we  made  yeast,  —  found  two  or 
three  leather  bags,  and  a  soldier  shoemaker  contrived 
shoes  for  each  of  my  boys. 

My  own  prime  necessity  was  for  the  steel  we 
women  wear  in  front  of  our  stays.  I  suffered  so 


230  My  Day 

much  for  want  of  this  accustomed  support,  that 
Captain  Lindsay  had  a  pair  made  for  me  by  the  gov 
ernment  gunsmith  —  the  best  I  ever  had. 

The  time  came  when  the  salable  contents  of  the 
Washington  trunk  were  all  gone.  I  then  cut  up 
my  husband's  dress-coat,  and  designed  well-fitting 
ladies'  gloves,  with  gauntlets  made  of  the  watered 
silk  lining.  Of  an  interlining  of  gray  flannel  I 
made  gray  gloves,  and  this  glove  manufacture  yielded 
me  hundreds  of  dollars.  Thirteen  small  fragments 
of  flannel  were  left  after  the  gloves  were  finished. 
Of  these,  pieced  together,  I  made  a  pair  of  drawers 
for  my  Willy,  —  my  youngest  boy. 

The  lines  around  us  were  now  so  closely  drawn 
that  my  father  returned  home  after  short  absences 
of  a  day  or  two.  But  we  were  made  anxious,  during 
a  heavy  snow  early  in  December,  by  a  more  pro 
longed  absence.  Finally  he  appeared,  on  foot, 
hatless,  and  exhausted.  He  had  been  captured  by  a 
party  of  cavalrymen.  He  had  told  them  of  his 
non-combatant  position,  but  when  he  asked  for  re 
lease,  they  shook  their  heads.  At  night  they  all 
prepared  to  bivouac  upon  the  ground  ;  assigned  him  a 
sheltered  spot,  gave  him  a  good  supper  and  blankets, 
and  left  him  to  his  repose.  As  the  night  wore  on 
and  all  grew  still,  he  raised  his  head  cautiously  to 
reconnoitre,  and  to  his  surprise  found  himself  at  some 
distance  from  the  guard  —  but  his  horse  tied  to  a  tree 
within  the  circle  around  the  fire.  My  father  took 
the  hint  and  walked  away  unchallenged,  "  which 
proves,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "that  a  clergyman  is 
not  worth  as  much  as  a  good  horse  in  time  of  war." 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

IN  the  colony  escaped  from  the  shells  and 
huddled  together  around  General  Lee  were  two 
very  humble  poor  women  who  often  visited 
me.  One  of  them  was  the  proud  owner  of  a  cow, 
"  Morning-Glory,"  which  she  contrived  to  feed 
from  the  refuse  of  the  camp  kitchens,  receiving  in 
return  a  small  quantity  of  milk,  to  be  sold  at  prices 
beyond  belief.  I  never  saw  Morning-Glory,  but  I 
often  heard  her  friendly  echo  to  the  lowing  of  my 
little  Rose,  morning  and  evening.  Being  inter 
preted,  it  might  have  been  found  to  convey  an 
expression  of  surprise  that  either  was  still  alive,  so 
slender  was  their  allowance  of  food. 

One  day  I  espied,  coming  down  the  dusty  road, 
the  limp,  sunbonneted  figure  of  Morning-Glory's 
mistress.  She  sank  upon  the  nearest  chair,  pushed 
back  her  calico  bonnet,  and  revealed  a  face  blurred 
with  tears  and  hair  dishevelled  beyond  the  ordinary. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Jones !  Come  to  the 
fire  !  It's  a  cold  morning." 

"  No'm,  I  ain't  cole  !  It's  —  it's  "  (sobbing)  — 
"it's  Mornin'-Glory  !  " 

"Not  sick?     If  she  is,  I'll  —  " 

"  No'm,  Mornin'-Glory  ain't  never  goin'  to  be 
sick  no  mo'." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Jones  !     Not  dead!  " 

"Them  pickets  kep'  me  awake  all  las'  night,  an'  I 

231 


232  My  Day 

got  up  in  the  night  an'  went  out  to  see  how 
Mornin'-Glory  was  gettin'  on,  an'  she  —  she  —  she 
look  at  me  jus'  the  same  !  An'  I  slep'  soun'  till 
after  sun-up,  and  when  I  got  my  pail  an'  went  out 
to  milk  her  —  thar  was  her  horns  an  hufs  I  ' 

The  poor  woman  broke  down  completely  in  tell 
ing  me  the  ghastly  story.  "  Oh,  how  wicked  ! 
How  was  it  possible  to  take  her  off  and  nobody 
hear  ?  "  I  exclaimed  in  great  wrath. 

"  I  don't  know,  Mis'  Pryor,  nothin'  but  what 
I  tells  you.  Talk  to  me  'bout  Yankees  !  Soldiers 
is  soldiers,  an'  when  you  say  that,  you  jus'  as  well 
say  devils  is  devils." 

My  other  poor  neighbor  had  long  been  a  pen 
sioner  on  my  father.  She  was  a  forlorn  widow  with 
many  children,  hopeless  and  helpless.  My  father 
was  in  despair  when  she  turned  up  "  to  git  away 
from  the  shellin'."  She  found  a  small  untenanted 
house  near  us  and  set  up  an  establishment  which 
was  supported  altogether  by  boarding  an  occasional 
soldier  on  sick  leave,  and  taking  his  rations  as  her 
pay.  Like  Mrs.  Jones,  she  was  a  frequent  visitor  to 
my  fireside.  One  morning,  after  some  unusual 
demonstrations  of  coy  shyness,  she  blurted  out :  "  I 
knows  fo'  I  begin  what  you  goin'  to  say !  You 
goin'  to  tell  me  Ma'y  Ann  is  a  fool,  an'  I  won't  say 
you  ain't  in  the  rights  of  it." 

"  Well,  what  is  Mary  Ann's  folly  ?  I  thought 
she  had  grown  up  to  be  a  sensible  girl." 

"Sensible  !  May  Ann  !  Them  pretty  gals  is  never 
sensible  !  No'm.  Melissy  Jane  is  the  sensible  one 
o'  my  chillun.  I  tole  Ma'y  Ann  she  didn't  have 


My  Day  233 

nothin'  fitten  to  be  ma'ied  in,  an'  she  up  an*  say  she 
know  Mis*  Pryor  am'  goin'  to  let  one  o'  her  pa's 
chu'ch  people  git  ma'ied  in  rags." 

"  I  certainly  will  not,  Mrs.  Davis  !  Mary  Ann, 
I  suppose,  is  to  marry  the  soldier  you've  been  tak 
ing  care  of.  Tell  her  she  may  look  to  me  for  a 
wedding-dress.  When  is  it  to  be  ?" 

"  Just  as  Dr.  Pryor  says  —  to-morrow  if  con 
venient." 

I  immediately  overhauled  the  bundle  of  Wash 
ington  finery  and  found  a  lavender  Pina,  or  "  pine 
apple  "  muslin,  not  yet  prepared  for  sale.  This 
was  a  delicate  gown,  trimmed  with  lavender  silk, 
and  with  angel  sleeves  lined  with  white  silk.  This  I 
sent  to  the  prospective  bride  —  considering  her  needs 
and  station,  a  most  unsuitable  wedding  garment,  but 
all  I  had !  I  managed  to  make  a  contribution  to 
the  wedding  supper,  a  large  pumpkin  I  extorted  from 
John,  who  had  "  found  "  it.  Melissy  Jane,  homely 
enough  to  be  brilliantly  "  sensible,"  appeared  to  take 
charge  of  the  present,  —  the  most  slatternly,  un 
lovely,  and  altogether  unpromising  of  the  poor 
white  class  I  had  ever  seen  ;  and  my  father,  in  view  of 
the  great  good  fortune  coming  to  the  forlorn  family  in 
the  acquisition  of  an  able-bodied,  whole-hearted  Con 
federate  soldier,  made  no  delay  in  performing  the 
marriage  ceremony.  About  a  week  afterward  Mrs. 
Davis,  limper  than  ever,  more  depressed  than  ever, 
reappeared. 

"I   hope  nobody's  sick?"  I  inquired. 

"  No'm,  the  chilluns  is  as  peart  as  common. 
Ma'y  Ann  don't  seem  no  ways  encouraged. 
'  Pears  like  she's  onreconciled." 


234  My  Day 

"  Why,  what  ails  poor  Mary  Ann  ?  " 

"Yas'm  — he's  lef  her!  Jus' took  hisself  off 
and  never  say  nuthin'.  We-all  don't  even  know 
what  company  owns  him." 

"  Mrs.  Davis  !  "  I  exclaimed,  in  great  indigna 
tion,  "  this  is  not  to  be  tolerated.  That  man  is  to 
be  found  and  made  to  do  his  duty.  I  can  manage 
it!" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  keers  to  ketch  'im,"  sighed 
the  poor  woman.  "  Ef  you  capters  them  men 
erginst  ther  will,  they'll  git  away  ergin  —  sho  !  Let 
'im  go  long  !  He  ain't  paid  me  a  cent  or  a  ration  of 
meat  an'  meal  sence  he  was  ma'ied.  Anyhow," 
she  proudly  added,  "May  Ann  is  maiedl  Folks 
can't  fling  it  up  to  'er  now  as  she's  a  ole  maid,"  — 
which  proves  that  maternal  ambitions  are  peculiar  to 
no  condition  of  life. 

Looking  back,  and  living  over  again  these  stern 
times,  it  seems  to  me  little  short  of  a  miracle  that 
we  actually  did  exist  upon  the  slender  portion  of 
food  allotted  us.  We  could  rarely  see,  from  one 
day  to  another,  just  how  we  were  to  be  fed. 
"  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread  "  —  this  petition 
was  our  sole  reliance.  And  as  surely  as  the  day 
would  come, 

"  He  that  doth  the  ravens  feed, 
Yea,  providently  caters  for  the  sparrow," 

would  prove  to  us  that  we  were  of  more  value  in 
His  sight  than  many  sparrows. 

General  Lee  passed  my  door  every  Sunday 
morning  on  his  way  to  a  little  wooden  chapel 


My  Day  235 

nearer  his  quarters  than  St.  Paul's  Church.  I  have 
a  picture  of  him  in  my  memory,  in  his  faded  gray 
overcoat  and  slouch  hat,  bending  his  head  before 
the  sleet  on  stormy  mornings.  Sometimes  his 
cousin,  Mrs.  Banister,  could  find  herself  warranted 
by  circumstances  to  invite  him  to  dine  with  her. 
Once  she  received  from  a  country  friend  a  present 
of  a  turkey,  and  General  Lee  consented  to  share  it 
with  her.  She  helped  him  at  dinner  to  a  moderate 
portion,  for  there  was  only  one  turkey  —  like  Charles 
Lamb's  hare  —  and  many  friends  !  Mrs.  Banister 
observed  the  general  laying  on  one  side  of  his  plate 
part  of  his  share  of  the  turkey,  and  she  regretted 
his  loss  of  appetite.  "  Madam,"  he  explained, 
"  Colonel  Taylor  is  not  well,  and  I  should  be  glad 
to  be  permitted  to  take  this  to  him." 

After  an  unusually  mild  season,  John  bethought 
himself  of  the  fishes  in  the  pond  and  streams,  but 
not  a  fishhook  was  for  sale  in  Richmond  or  Peters 
burg.  He  contrived,  out  of  a  cunning  arrangement 
of  pins,  to  make  hooks,  and  sallied  forth  with  my 
boys.  But  the  water  was  too  cold,  or  the  fish  had 
been  driven  down-stream  by  the  firing.  The 
usual  resource  of  the  sportsman  with  an  empty 
creel  —  a  visit  to  the  fishmonger  —  was  quite  out 
of  the  question.  There  was  no  fishmonger  any 
more. 

Under  these  circumstances  you  may  imagine  my 
sensation  at  receiving  the  following  note  :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  PRYOR  :  General  Lee  has  been  hon 
ored  by  a  visit  from  the  Hon.  Thomas  Connolly,  Irish 
M.P.  from  Donegal. 


236  My  Day 

"  He  ventures  to  request  you  will  have  the  kindness  to 
give  Mr.  Connolly  a  room  in  your  cottage,  if  this  can  be 
done  without  inconvenience  to  yourself." 

Certainly  I  could  give  Mr.  Connolly  a  room ; 
but  just  as  certainly  I  could  not  feed  him!  The 
messenger  who  brought  me  the  note  hastily  re 
assured  me.  He  had  been  instructed  to  say  that 
Mr.  Connolly  would  mess  with  General  Lee.  I 
turned  Mr.  Connolly's  room  over  to  John,  who 
soon  became  devoted  to  his  service.  The  M.P. 
proved  a  most  agreeable  guest,  a  fine-looking  Irish 
gentleman  with  an  irresistibly  humorous,  cheery 
fund  of  talk.  He  often  dropped  in  at  our  biscuit 
toasting,  and  assured  us  that  we  were  better  pro 
vided  than  the  commander-in-chief. 

"You  should  have  seen  c  Uncle  Robert's'  dinner 
to-day,  madam  !  He  had  two  biscuits,  and  he  gave 
me  one." 

Another  time  Mr.  Connolly  was  in  high  feather. 

"  We  had  a  glorious  dinner  to-day  !  Somebody 
sent £  Uncle  Robert '  a  box  of  sardines." 

General  Lee,  however,  was  not  forgotten.  On 
fine  mornings  quite  a  procession  of  little  negroes, 
in  every  phase  of  raggedness,  used  to  pass  my  door, 
each  one  bearing  a  present  from  the  farmers'  wives 
of  buttermilk  in  a  tin  pail  for  General  Lee.  The 
army  was  threatened  with  scurvy,  and  buttermilk, 
hominy,  and  every  vegetable  that  could  be  obtained 
was  sent  to  the  hospital. 

Mr.  Connolly  interested  himself  in  my  boys' 
Latin  studies. 


My  Day  237 

"  I  am  going  home,"  he  said,  cc  and  tell  the 
English  women  what  I  have  seen  here:  two  boys 
reading  Caesar  while  the  shells  are  thundering,  and 
their  mother  looking  on  without  fear." 

"  I  am  too  busy  keeping  the  wolf  from  my  door," 
I  told  him,  <f  to  concern  myself  with  the  thunder 
bolts." 

The  wolf  was  no  longer  at  the  door !  He  had 
entered  and  had  taken  up  his  abode  at  the  fireside. 
Besides  what  I  could  earn  with  my  needle,  I  had 
only  my  father's  army  ration  to  rely  upon.  My 
faithful  John  foraged  right  and  left,  and  I  had 
reason  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  inquiring  too  closely 
as  to  the  source  of  an  occasional  half-dozen  eggs  or 
small  bag  of  corn.  This  last  he  would  pound  on  a 
wooden  block  for  hominy.  Meal  was  greatly  prized 
for  the  reason  that  wholesomer  bread  could  be  made 
of  it  than  of  wheaten  flour,  —  meal  was  no  longer  pro 
curable,  but  we  were  never  altogether  without  flour. 
As  I  have  said,  we  might  occasionally  purchase  for 
five  dollars  the  head  of  a  bullock  from  the  com 
missary,  every  other  part  of  the  animal  being  avail 
able  for  army  rations.  By  self-denial  on  our  own 
part  we  fondly  hoped  we  could  support  our  army 
and  at  last  win  our  cause.  We  were  not,  at  the  time, 
fully  aware  of  the  true  state  of  things  in  the  army. 
Our  men  were  so  depleted  from  starvation  that  the 
most  trifling  wound  would  end  fatally.  Gangrene 
would  supervene,  and  then  nothing  could  be  done  to 
prevent  death.  Long  before  this  time,  at  Vicksburg, 
Admiral  Porter  found  that  many  a  dead  soldier's 
haversack  yielded  nothing  but  a  handful  of  parched 


238  My  Day 

corn.  We  were  now  enduring  a  sterner  siege.  The 
month  of  January  brought  us  sleet  and  storm.  Our 
famine  grew  sterner  every  day.  Seasons  of  bitter 
cold  weather  would  find  us  without  wood  to  burn, 
and  we  had  no  other  fuel.  I  commenced  cutting 
down  the  choice  fruit  trees  in  the  grounds,  —  and 
General  Wilcox  managed  to  send  me  a  load  of 
rails  from  a  fence,  hitherto  spared  by  the  soldiers. 
Poor  little  Rose  could  yield  only  one  cupful  of 
milk,  so  small  was  her  ration  ;  but  we  never  thought 
of  turning  the  faithful  animal  into  beef.  The  offi 
cers  in  my  yard  spared  her  something  every  day 
from  the  food  of  their  horses. 

The  days  were  so  dark  and  cheerless,  the  news 
from  the  armies  at  a  distance  so  discouraging,  it  was 
hard  to  preserve  a  cheerful  demeanor  for  the  sake 
of  the  family.  And  now  began  the  alarming  tidings, 
every  morning,  of  the  desertions  during  the  night. 
General  Wilcox  wondered  how  long  his  brigade 
would  hold  together  at  the  rate  of  fifty  desertions 
every  twenty-four  hours! 

The  common  soldier  had  enlisted,  not  to  establish 
the  right  of  secession,  not  for  love  of  the  slave, — 
he  had  no  slaves,  —  but  simply  to  resist  the  invasion 
of  the  South  by  the  North,  simply  to  prevent  sub 
jugation.  The  soldier  of  the  rank  and  file  was  not 
always  intellectual  or  cultivated.  He  cared  little  for 
politics,  less  for  slavery.  He  did  care,  however,  for 
his  own  soil,  his  own  little  farm,  his  own  humble 
home,  and  he  was  willing  to  fight  to  drive  the  in 
vader  from  it.  Lincoln's  Emancipation  Proclama 
tion  did  not  stimulate  him  in  the  least.  The  negro, 


My  Day  239 

free  or  slave,  was  of  no  consequence  to  him.  His 
quarrel  was  a  sectional  one,  and  he  fought  for  his 
section. 

In  any  war  the  masses  rarely  trouble  themselves 
about  the  merits  of  the  quarrel.  Their  pugnacity 
and  courage  are  aroused  and  stimulated  by  the  en 
thusiasm  of  their  comrades  or  by  their  own  personal 
wrongs  and  perils. 

Now,  in  January,  1865,  the  common  soldier  per 
ceived  that  the  cause  was  lost.  He  could  read  its 
doom  in  the  famine  around  him,  in  the  faces  of  his 
officers,  in  tidings  from  abroad.  His  wife  and  chil 
dren  were  suffering.  His  duty  was  now  to  them  ; 
so  he  stole  away  in  the  darkness,  and  in  infinite 
danger  and  difficulty  found  his  way  back  to  his  own 
fireside.  He  deserted,  but  not  to  the  enemy. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  soldier  who  remained 
unflinching  at  his  post  knowing  the  cause  was  lost 
for  which  he  was  called  to  meet  death?  Heroism 
can  attain  no  loftier  height  than  this.  Very  few  of 
the  intelligent  men  of  our  army  had  the  slightest 
hope,  at  the  end,  of  our  success.  Some,  like  Mr. 
William  C.  Rives,  had  none  at  the  beginning. 

One  night  all  these  things  weighed  more  heavily 
than  usual  upon  me,  —  the  picket  firing,  the  famine, 
the  military  executions,  the  dear  one  "  sick  and  in 
prison."  I  sighed  audibly,  and  my  son  Theodorick, 
who  slept  near  me,  asked  the  cause,  adding,  "  Why 
can  you  not  sleep,  dear  mother  ?  " 

Suppose,"  I  replied,  "  you  repeat  something  for 


me." 


He  at  once  commenced,  "  Tell  me  not  in  mourn- 


240  My  Day 

ful  numbers  "  —  and  repeated  the  "  Psalm  of  Life." 
I  did  not  sleep ;  those  were  brave  words,  but  not 
strong  enough  for  the  situation. 

He  paused,  and  presently  his  young  voice  broke 
the  stillness :  — 

"  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  all  that  is  within 
me,  bless  His  holy  name"  —  g°ing  °n  to  the  end 
of  the  beautiful  psalm  of  adoration  and  faith  which 
nineteen  centuries  have  decreed  to  be  in  very  truth  a 
Psalm  of  Life. 

That  General  Lee  was  acutely  sensible  of  our  con 
dition  was  proved  by  an  interview  with  General 
Gordon.  Before  daylight,  on  the  2d  of  March, 
General  Lee  sent  for  General  Gordon,  who  was  with 
his  command  at  a  distant  part  of  the  line.  Upon 
arriving,  General  Gordon  was  much  affected  by  see 
ing  General  Lee  standing  at  the  mantel  in  his  room, 
his  head  bowed  on  his  folded  arms.  The  room  was 
dimly  lighted  by  a  single  lamp,  and  a  smouldering 
fire  was  dying  on  the  hearth.  The  night  was  cold, 
and  General  Lee's  room  chill  and  cheerless. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  General  Gordon,"  said 
General  Lee,  with  a  dejected  voice  and  manner,  "  to 
make  known  to  you  the  condition  of  our  affairs  and 
consult  with  you  as  to  what  we  had  best  do.  I  have 
here  reports  sent  in  from  my  officers  to-night.  I 
find  I  have  under  my  command,  of  all  arms,  hardly 
forty-five  thousand  men.  These  men  are  starving. 
They  are  already  so  weakened  as  to  be  hardly 
efficient.  Many  of  them  have  become-  desperate, 
reckless,  and  disorderly  as  they  have  never  been 
before. 


My  Day  24! 

"  It  is  difficult  to  control  men  who  are  suffering 
for  food.  They  are  breaking  open  mills,  barns,  and 
stores  in  search  of  it.  Almost  crazed  from  hunger, 
they  are  deserting  in  large  numbers  and  going  home. 
My  horses  are  in  equally  bad  condition.  The 
supply  of  horses  in  the  country  is  exhausted.  It 
has  come  to  be  just  as  bad  for  me  to  have  a  horse 
killed  as  a  man.  I  cannot  remount  a  cavalryman 
whose  horse  dies.  General  Grant  can  mount  ten 
thousand  men  in  ten  days  and  move  round  your 
flank.  If  he  were  to  send  me  word  to-morrow  that 
I  might  move  out  unmolested,  I  have  not  enough 
horses  to  move  my  artillery.  He  is  not  likely  to  send 
me  any  such  message,  although  he  sent  me  word 
yesterday  that  he  knew  what  I  had  for  breakfast 
every  morning.  I  sent  him  word  I  did  not  think 
that  this  could  be  so,  for  if  he  did  he  would  surely 
send  me  something  better. 

"  But  now  let  us  look  at  the  figures.  As  I  said,  I 
have  forty-five  thousand  starving  men.  Hancock 
has  eighteen  thousand  at  Winchester.  To  oppose 
him  I  have  not  a  single  vidette.  Sheridan,  with  his 
terrible  cavalry,  has  marched  unmolested  and  un 
opposed  along  the  James,  cutting  the  railroads  and 
the  canal.  Thomas  is  coming  from  Knoxville  with 
thirty  thousand  well-equipped  troops,  and  I  have,  to 
oppose  him,  not  more  than  three  thousand  in  all. 
Sherman  is  in  North  Carolina  with  sixty-five  thou 
sand  men.  So  I  have  forty-five  thousand  poor  fel 
lows  in  bad  condition  opposed  to  one  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  strong  and  confident  men.  These 
forces  added  to  General  Grant's  make  over  a  quarter 


242  My  Day 

of  a  million.  To  prevent  them  all  from  uniting  to 
my  destruction,  and  adding  Johnston's  and  Beaure- 
gard's  men,  I  can  oppose  only  sixty  thousand  men. 
They  are  growing  weaker  every  day.  Their  suffer 
ings  are  terrible  and  exhausting.  My  horses  are 
broken  down  and  impotent.  General  Grant  may  press 
around  our  flank  any  day  and  cut  off  our  supplies." 

As  a  result  of  this  conference  General  Lee  went 
to  Richmond  to  make  one  more  effort  to  induce  our 
government  to  treat  for  peace.  It  was  on  his  re 
turn  from  an  utterly  fruitless  errand  that  he  said :  — 

"I  am  a  soldier!  It  is  my  duty  to  obey  orders;" 
and  the  final  disastrous  battles  were  fought. 

It  touches  me  to  know  now  that  it  was  after  this 
that  my  beloved  commander  found  heart  to  turn 
aside  and  bring  me  comfort.  No  one  knew  better 
than  he  all  I  had  endeavored  and  endured,  and  my 
heart  blesses  his  memory  for  its  own  sake.  At  this 
tremendous  moment,  when  he  had  returned  from 
his  fruitless  mission  to  Richmond,  when  the  attack 
on  Fort  Steadman  was  impending,  when  his  slender 
line  was  confronted  by  Grant's  ever  increasing  host, 
stretching  twenty  miles,  when  the  men  were  so 
starved,  so  emaciated,  that  the  smallest  wound  meant 
death,  when  his  own  personal  privations  were  be 
yond  imagination,  General  Lee  could  spend  half  an 
hour  for  my  consolation  and  encouragement. 

Cottage  Farm  being  on  the  road  between  head 
quarters  and  Fort  Gregg,  —  the  fortification  which 
held  General  Grant  in  check  at  that  point,  —  I  saw 
General  Lee  almost  daily  going  to  this  work  or  to 
Battery  45. 


My  Day  243 

I  was,  as  was  my  custom,  sewing  in  my  little  par 
lor  one  morning,  about  the  middle  of  March,  when 
an  orderly  entered,  saying  :  — 

"  General  Lee  wishes  to  make  his  respects  to  Mrs. 
Pryor."  The  general  was  immediately  behind  him. 
His  face  was  lighted  with  the  anticipation  of  telling 
me  his  good  news.  With  the  high-bred  courtesy 
and  kindness  which  always  distinguished  his  manner, 
he  asked  kindly  after  my  welfare,  and  taking  my 
little  girl  in  his  arms,  began  gently  to  break  his  news 
to  me  :  — 

"  How  long,  madam,  was  General  Pryor  with  me 
before  he  had  a  furlough  ?  " 

"He  never  had  one,  I  think,"  I  answered. 

"  Well,  did  I  not  take  good  care  of  him  until  we 
camped  here  so  close  to  you  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  I  said,  puzzled  to  know  the  drift  of 
these  preliminaries. 

"  I  sent  him  home  to  you,  I  remember,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  for  a  day  or  two,  and  you  let  the  Yankees 
catch  him.  Now  he  is  coming  back  to  be  with  you 
again  on  parole  until  he  is  exchanged.  You  must 
take  better  care  of  him  in  future." 

I  was  too  much  overcome  to  do  more  than  stam 
mer  a  few  words  of  thanks. 

Presently  he  added,  "  What  are  you  going  to  say 
when  I  tell  the  general  that  in  all  this  winter  you 
have  never  once  been  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  General  Lee,"  I  answered,  "  I  had  too  much 
mercy  to  join  in  your  buttermilk  persecution  !  " 

"  Persecution  !  "  he  said ;  "  such  things  keep  us 
alive  !  Last  night,  when  I  reached  my  headquarters, 


244 

I  found  a  card  on  my  table  with  a  hyacinth  pinned 
to  it,  and  these  words :  c  For  General  Lee,  with  a 
kiss ! '  Now,"  he  added,  tapping  his  breast,  "  I 
have  here  my  hyacinth  and  my  card  —  and  I  mean 
to  find  my  kiss  I  " 

He  was  amused  by  the  earnest  eyes  of  my  little 
girl,  as  she  gazed  into  his  face. 

"  They  have  a  wonderful  liking  for  soldiers,"  he 
said.  "  I  knew  one  little  girl  to  give  up  all  her 
pretty  curls  willingly  that  she  might  look  like  Cus- 
tis  !  c  They  might  cut  my  hair  like  Custis's,'  she 
said.  Custis  !  whose  shaven  head  does  not  improve 
him  in  any  eyes  but  hers." 

His  manner  was  the  perfection  of  repose  and  sim 
plicity.  As  he  talked  with  me,  I  remembered  that 
I  had  heard  of  this  singular  calmness.  Even  at 
Gettysburg  and  at  the  explosion  of  the  crater  he 
had  evinced  no  agitation  or  dismay.  I  did  not 
know  then,  as  I  do  now,  that  nothing  had  ever 
approached  the  anguish  of  this  moment,  when  he 
had  come  to  say  an  encouraging  and  cheering 
word  to  me,  after  abandoning  all  hope  of  the 
success  of  the  cause. 

After  talking  awhile  and  sending  a  kind  message 
to  my  husband,  to  greet  him  on  his  return,  he  rose, 
walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  over  the  fields,  — 
the  fields  through  which,  not  many  days  afterward, 
he  dug  his  last  trenches ! 

I  was  moved  to  say,  "You  only,  General,  can  tell 
me  if  it  is  worth  my  while  to  put  the  ploughshare 
into  those  fields." 

"Plant  your  seeds,   madam,"  he   replied;    sadly 


My  Day  245 

adding,  after  a  moment,  "  The  doing  it  will  be  some 
reward." 

I  was  answered.  I  thought  then  he  had  little 
hope.  I  now  know  he  had  none. 

He  had  already,  as  we  have  seen,  remonstrated 
against  further  resistance  —  against  the  useless  shed 
ding  of  blood.  His  protest  had  been  unheeded. 
It  remained  for  him  now  to  gather  his  forces  for  en 
durance  to  the  end. 

Twenty  days  afterward  his  headquarters  were  in 
ashes ;  he  had  led  his  famished  army  across  the 
Appomattox,  and  telling  them  they  had  done  their 
duty  and  had  nothing  to  regret,  he  had  bidden  them 
farewell  forever. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE  day  drew  near  when  the  husband  and  father 
of  our  little  family  was  to  be  restored  to  his  own 
home  and  his  own  people.  Paroled,  and  not 
yet  exchanged,  we  could  hope  for  a  brief  visit  from  him. 
John  was  in  a  great  state  over  the  possibilities  of  a 
welcoming  banquet.  Peas,  beans,  flour,  sorghum 
molasses,  —  these  in  small  quantity  he  might  hope 
to  command.  A  nourishing  soup  could  be  made 
of  the  peas,  and  if  only  he  could  "  find  "  an  egg, 
he  could  mix  it  with  sorghum  and  bake  it  in  an  un- 
shortened  open  crust  for  dessert.  But  the  meat 
course  ! 

Just  at  this  critical  moment  a  hapless~duck  ven- 
tured  too  near  John's  acquisitive  hand  while  he  was 
on  one  of  his  prowling  expeditions.  This  he  per 
fectly  roasted  and  presented  to  me  to  be  sacredjy 
kept  until  the  general's  arrival.  Accordingly  I  hid 
it  away  in  a  small  safe  with  wire-netting  doors,  and 
judiciously  covered  it  over  with  a  cloth  lest  some 
child  or  visitor  should  be  led  into  irresistible  temp 
tation. 

We  were  all  expectation  and  excitement  when  a 
lady  drove  up  and  asked  for  shelter,  as  she  had 
been  "  driven  in  from  the  lines."  Shelter  and  lodg 
ing  I  could  give  by  spreading  quilts  on  the  parlor 
floor  —  but,  alas,  my  duck!  Must  my  precious 
duck  be  sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  hospitality  ?  I 

246 


My  Day  247 

peeped  into  the  little  safe  to  assure  myself  that  I 
could  manage  to  keep  it  hidden,  and  behold,  it  was 
gone  !  Not  until  next  day,  when  it  was  placed 
before  my  husband  with  a  triumphant  flourish  (our 
unwelcome  guest  had  departed),  did  I  discover  that 
John  had  stolen  it !  "  Why,  there's  the  duck  !  "  I 
exclaimed. 

"  'Course  here's  the  duck  !  "  said  John,  respect 
fully.  "  Ducks  got  plenty  of  sense.  They  knows 
as  well  as  folks  when  to  hide." 

We  found  our  released  prisoner  pale  and  thin, 
but  devoutly  thankful  to  be  at  home.  Mr.  Con 
nolly  and  the  officers  around  us  called  in  the  even 
ing,  keenly  anxious  to  hear  his  story  and  heartily 
expressing  their  joy  at  his  release.  My  friends  in 
Washington  had  wished  to  send  me  some  presents, 
but  my  husband  declined  them,  accepting  only  two 
cans  of  pineapple.  Mr.  Connolly  sent  out  for  the 
"  boys  in  the  yard  "  and  assisted  me  in  dividing  the 
fruit  into  portions,  so  each  one  should  have  a  bit. 
It  was  served  on  all  the  saucers  and  butter  plates 
we  could  find,  and  Mr.  Connolly  himself  handed 
the  tray  around,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  lads  !  it  is  just 
the  best  thing  you  ever  tasted  !  "  Then  each  soldier 
brought  forth  his  brier-root  and  gathered  around 
the  traveller  for  his  story.  His  story  was  a  thrill 
ing  one  —  of  his  capture,  his  incarceration,  his  com 
rades  ;  finally  of  the  unexpected  result  of  the  efforts 
of  his  ante-bellum  friends,  Washington  McLean  and 
John  W.  Forney,  for  his  release. 

It  was  ascertained  by  these  friends  in  Washington 
that  he  was  detained  as  hostage  for  the  safety  of  some 


248  My  Day 

Union  officer  whom  the  Confederate  government 
had  threatened  to  put  to  death.  This  situation 
of  affairs  left  General  Pry  or  in  a  very  dangerous 
position.  Southern  leaders  were  inclined  to  take 
revenge  upon  some  prominent  Union  soldiers 
in  their  prisons,  and  Stanton  stood  ready  to  take 
counter-revenge  upon  the  body  of  "  Harry  Hot 
spur."  Washington  McLean,  the  editor  and  proprie 
tor  of  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer ',  had  met  my  husband 
while  he  was  in  Congress,  and  learned  "  to  like  and 
love  him,"  as  one  expressed  it.  Realizing  the 
gravity  of  his  friend's  situation,  Mr.  McLean,  hav 
ing  first  approached  General  Grant,  who  positively 
refused  to  consider  General  Pryor's  release,  resolved 
to  appeal  to  Mr.  Stanton.  He  found  Mr.  Stanton 
in  the  library  of  his  own  home,  with  his  daughter  in 
his  arms,  and  the  following  conversation  ensued  :  — 

"  This  is  a  charming  fireside  picture,  Mr.  Secre 
tary  !  I  warrant  that  little  lady  cares  nothing  for 
war  or  the  Secretary  of  War !  She  has  her  father, 
and  that  fills  all  her  ambition." 

"  You  never  said  a  truer  word,  did  he,  pet  ?  " 
pressing  the  curly  head  close  to  his  bosom. 

"  Well,  then,  Stanton,  you  will  understand  my 
errand.  There  are  curly  heads  down  there  in  old 
Virginia  weeping  out  their  bright  eyes  for  a  father 
loved  just  as  this  pretty  baby  loves  you." 

"  Yes,  yes  !     Probably  so,"  said  Stanton. 

"Now  — there's  Pryor— " 

But  before  another  word  could  be  said,  the  Sec 
retary  of  War  pushed  the  child  from  his  knee  and 
thundered :  — 


My  Day  249 

"  He  shall  be  hanged  !     Damn  him  !  " 

But  he  had  reckoned  without  his  host  when  he 
supposed  that  Washington  McLean  would  not  ap 
peal  from  that  verdict.  Armed  with  a  letter  of 
introduction  from  Horace  Greeley,  Mr.  McLean 
visited  Mr.  Lincoln.  The  President  remembered 
General  Pryor's  uniformly  generous  treatment  of 
prisoners  who  had,  at  various  times,  fallen  into  his 
custody,  especially  his  capture  at  Manassas  of  the 
whole  camp  of  Federal  wounded,  surgeons  and 
ambulance  corps,  and  his  prompt  parole  of  the 
same.  Mr.  Lincoln  listened  attentively,  and  after 
ascertaining  all  the  facts,  issued  an  order  directing 
Colonel  Burke,  the  commander  at  Fort  Lafayette, 
to  "  deliver  Roger  A.  Pryor  into  the  custody  of 
Colonel  John  W.  Forney,  Secretary  of  the  Senate, 
to  be  produced  by  him  whenever  required." 

Armed  with  this  order,  Mr.  McLean  visited  Fort 
Lafayette,  where  he  found  his  friend  in  close  con 
finement  in  the  casemate  with  other  prisoners.  Mr. 
McLean  immediately  secured  his  release  and  ac 
companied  him  to  Washington  and  to  Colonel 
Forney's  house. 

As  is  now  well  known,  even  a  presidential  com 
mand  did  not  stand  in  the  way  of  Stanton's  ven 
geance.  When  he  learned  of  General  Pryor's  release, 
his  rage  was  unbounded,  and  he  immediately  issued 
orders  to  seize  the  prisoner  wherever  found,  and 
announced  his  intention  of  hanging  him,  as  a  re 
sponse  to  the  threats  of  the  Southern  leaders.  Colo 
nel  Forney  was  advised  of  this  condition  of  affairs, 
and  at  his  request  his  secretary,  John  Russell  Young, 


250  My  Day 

afterwards  Minister  to  China,  went  to  the  offices  of 
the  various  Washington  newspapers  and  gave  each 
journal  a  brief  account  of  how  General  Pryor  had 
passed  through  Washington  that  evening,  and  under 
parole  had  entered  into  the  rebel  lines.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  was  at  that  time  in  Colonel  Forney's 
house,  and  remained  there  for  two  more  days. 
Stanton,  however,  was  made  to  believe  that  his  prey 
had  escaped  him,  and  therefore  abandoned  his 
hunt. 

At  that  time  John  Y.  Beall,  a  Confederate  officer, 
was  confined  with  General  Pryor,  having  been,  it 
was  supposed,  implicated  in  a  conspiracy  to  set  fire 
to  hotels  and  museums  in  New  York,  derail  and 
fire  railroad  trains.  Young  Beall  protested  inno 
cence,  but  finally  he  was  arrested,  tried  by  court- 
martial,  and  sentenced  to  be  hanged.  He  belonged 
to  an  influential  Southern  family,  and  was  held  in 
high  esteem  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line. 
Some  of  the  officials  of  the  Confederacy  served 
notice  on  Secretary  of  War  Stanton  that  if  Beall  was 
hanged,  they  would  put  the  rope  around  the  necks 
of  a  number  of  prominent  Northern  soldiers  who 
at  that  time  were  in  their  custody.  But  the  stern 
Stanton  was  relentless,  and  he  only  sent  back  word 
that  if  the  threat  was  carried  into  execution,  he  would 
hang  Pryor.  Mr.  McLean  became  interested  in 
young  Beall's  fate,  and  suggested  that  if  General 
Pryor  would  make  a  personal  appeal  in  his  behalf  to 
President  Lincoln,  his  execution  might  probably  be 
prevented.  To  that  end,  Mr.  McLean  telegraphed 
a  request  to  Mr.  Lincoln,  that  he  accord  General 


My  Day  251 

Pryor  an  interview,  to  which  a  favorable  response 
was  promptly  returned.  The  next  evening  General 
Pryor,  with  Mr.  McLean  and  Mr.  Forney,  called 
at  the  White  House,  and  were  graciously  received 
by  the  President.  General  Pryor  at  once  opened 
his  intercession  in  behalf  of  Captain  Beall ;  but  al 
though  Mr.  Lincoln  evinced  the  sincerest  compassion 
for  the  young  man  and  an  extreme  aversion  to  his 
death,  he  felt  constrained  to  yield  to  the  assurance 
of  General  Dix,  in  a  telegram  just  received,  that  the 
execution  was  indispensable  to  the  security  of  the 
Northern  cities.  Mr.  Lincoln  then  turned  the  con 
versation  to  the  recent  conference  at  Hampton 
Roads,  the  miscarriage  of  which  he  deplored  with 
the  profoundest  sorrow.  He  said  that  had  the  Con 
federate  government  agreed  to  the  reestablishment 
of  the  Union  and  the  abolition  of  slavery,  the  people 
of  the  South  might  have  been  compensated  for  the 
loss  of  their  negroes  and  would  have  been  protected 
by  a  universal  amnesty,  but  that  Mr.  Jefferson 
Davis  made  the  recognition  of  the  Confederacy  a 
condition  sine  qua  non  of  any  negotiations.  Thus, 
he  declared,  would  Mr.  Davis  be  responsible  for 
every  drop  of  blood  that  should  be  shed  in  the 
further  prosecution  of  the  war,  a  futile  and  wicked 
effusion  of  blood,  since  it  was  then  obvious  to  every 
sane  man  that  the  Southern  armies  must  be  speedily 
crushed.  On  this  topic  he  dwelt  so  warmly  and  at 
such  length  that  General  Pryor  inferred  that  he  still 
hoped  the  people  of  the  South  would  reverse  Mr. 
Davis's  action,  and  would  renew  the  negotiations  for 
peace.  Indeed,  he  declared  in  terms  that  he  could 


252  My  Day 

not  believe  the  senseless  obstinacy  of  Mr.  Davis 
represented  the  sentiment  of  the  South.  It  was  ap 
parent  to  General  Pryor  that  Mr.  Lincoln  desired 
him  to  sound  leading  men  of  the  South  on  the  sub 
ject.  Accordingly,  on  the  general's  return  to  Rich 
mond,  he  did  consult  with  Senator  Hunter  and 
other  prominent  men  in  the  Confederacy,  but  with 
one  voice  they  assured  him  that  nothing  could  be 
done  with  Mr.  Davis,  and  that  the  South  had  only 
to  await  the  imminent  and  inevitable  catastrophe. 

The  inevitable  catastrophe  marched  on  apace. 

On  the  morning  of  April  2  we  were  all  up  early 
that  we  might  prepare  and  send  to  Dr.  Claiborne's 
hospital  certain  things  we  had  suddenly  acquired. 
An  old  farmer  friend  of  my  husband  had  loaded  a 
wagon  with  peas,  potatoes,  dried  fruit,  hominy,  and 
a  little  bacon,  and  had  sent  it  as  a  welcoming  present. 
We  had  been  told  of  the  prevalence  of  scurvy  in 
the  hospitals,  and  had  boiled  a  quantity  of  hominy, 
and  also  of  dried  fruit,  to  be  sent  with  the  potatoes 
for  the  relief  of  the  sick. 

My  husband  said  to  me  at  our  early  breakfast :  — 

"  How  soundly  you  can  sleep !  The  cannon 
ading  was  awful  last  night.  It  shook  the  house." 

"  Oh,  that  is  only  Fort  Gregg,"  I  answered. 
"  Those  guns  fire  incessantly.  I  don't  consider 
them.  You've  been  shut  up  in  a  casemate  so  long 
you've  forgotten  the  smell  of  powder." 

Our  father,  who  happened  to  be  with  us  that 
morning,  said  :  — 

"  By  the  bye,  Roger,  I  went  to  see  General  Lee, 
and  told  him  you  seemed  to  be  under  the  impression 


My  Day  253 

that  if  your  division  moves,  you  should  go  along 
with  it.  The  general  said  emphatically :  c  That  would 
be  violation  of  his  parole,  Doctor.  Your  son  surely 
knows  he  cannot  march  with  the  army  until  he  is 
exchanged/ ' 

This  was  a  great  relief  to  me,  for  I  had  been  afraid 
of  a  different  construction. 

After  breakfast  I  repaired  to  the  kitchen  to  see 
the  pails  filled  for  the  hospital,  and  to  send  Alick 
and  John  on  their  errand. 

Presently  a  message  was  brought  me  that  I  must 
join  my  husband,  who  had  walked  out  to  the  forti 
fication  behind  the  garden.  I  found  a  low  earth 
work  had  been  thrown  up  during  the  night  still 
nearer  our  house,  and  on  it  he  was  standing.  My 
husband  held  out  his  hand  and  drew  me  up  on  the 
breastwork  beside  him.  Negroes  were  passing, 
wheeling  their  barrows,  containing  the  spades  they 
had  just  used.  Below  was  a  plain,  and  ambulances 
were  collecting  and  stopping  at  intervals.  Then  a 
slender  gray  line  stretched  across  under  cover  of  the 
first  earthwork  and  the  forts.  Fort  Gregg  and 
Battery  45  were  belching  away  with  all  their  might, 
answered  by  guns  all  along  the  line.  While  we 
gazed  on  all  this,  the  wood  opposite  seemed  alive, 
and  out  stepped  a  division  of  bluecoats  —  muskets 
shining  and  banners  flying  in  the  morning  sun. 
My  husband  exclaimed  :  "  My  God  !  What  a 
line !  They  are  going  to  fight  here  right  away. 
Run  home  and  get  the  children  in  the  cellar." 

When  I  reached  the  little  encampment  be 
hind  the  house,  I  found  the  greatest  confusion. 


254  My  Day 

Tents  were  struck,  and  a  wagon  was  loading 
with  them. 

Captain  Glover  rode  up  to  me  and  conjured  me 
to  leave  immediately.  I  reminded  him  of  his 
promise  not  to  allow  me  to  be  surprised. 

"  We  are  ourselves  surprised,"  he  said ;  "  believe 
me,  your  life  is  not  safe  here  a  moment."  Tapping 
his  breast,  he  continued,  "  I  bear  despatches  proving 
what  I  say." 

I  ran  into  the  house,  and  with  my  two  little  chil 
dren  I  started  bareheaded  up  the  road  to  town.  I 
bade  the  servants  remain.  If  things  grew  warm,  they 
had  the  cellar,  and  perhaps  their  presence  would  save 
their  own  goods  and  mine,  should  the  day  go  against 
us.  The  negroes,  in  any  event,  would  be  safe. 

The  morning  was  close  and  warm,  and  as  we 
toiled  up  the  dusty  road,  I  regretted  the  loss  of  my 
hat.  Presently  I  met  a  gentleman  driving  rapidly 
from  town.  It  was  my  neighbor,  Mr.  Laighton. 

He  had  removed  his  wife  and  little  girls  to  a  place 
of  safety  and  was  returning  for  me.  He  proposed, 
as  we  were  now  out  of  musket  range,  that  I  should 
rest  with  the  children  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  and 
he  would  return  to  the  house  to  see  if  he  could  save 
something  —  what  did  I  suggest?  I  asked  that  he 
would  bring  a  change  of  clothing  for  the  children 
and  my  medicine  chest. 

As  we  waited  for  his  return,  some  terrified  horses 
dashed  up  the  road,  one  with  blood  flowing  from 
his  nostrils.  When  Mr.  Laighton  finally  returned, 
he  brought  news  that  he  had  seen  my  husband,  that 
my  boys  were  safe  with  him,  that  all  the  cooked 


My  Day  255 

provisions  were  spread  out  for  the  passing  soldiers, 
and  that  more  were  in  preparation  ;  also  that  he  had 
promised  to  take  care  of  me,  and  to  leave  the  gen 
eral  free  to  dispense  these  things  judiciously.  John 
had  put  the  service  of  silver  into  the  buggy,  and 
Eliza  had  packed  a  trunk,  for  which  he  was  to  re 
turn.  This  proved  to  be  the  French  trunk,  in  which 
Eliza  sent  a  change  of  clothing. 

When  Mr.  Laighton  asked  where  he  should  go 
with  us,  I  had  no  suggestion  to  make.  Few  of  my 
friends  were  in  the  town,  which  was  filled  with  ref 
ugees.  My  dear  Mrs.  Meade  or  Mr.  Charles 
Campbell  would,  I  was  sure,  shelter  us  in  an  extrem 
ity.  I  decided  to  drive  slowly  through  the  crowded 
streets,  looking  out  for  some  sign  of  lodgings  to  let. 
Presently  we  met  a  man  who  directed  us  to  an  empty 
house,  and  there,  dumping  the  silver  service  in  the 
front  porch,  Mr.  Laighton  left  us.  About  noon  I 
had  my  first  news  from  the  seat  of  war.  John  and 
Alick  appeared,  the  latter  leading  Rose  by  a  rope. 
John  was  to  return  (he  had  come  to  bring  me  some 
biscuits  and  my  champagne  glasses  !),  but  Alick  posi 
tively  rebelled.  Go  back  !  No,  marm,  not  if  he 
knew  his  name  was  Alick.  His  mammy  had  never 
borned  him  to  be  in  no  battle !  And  walking  off  to 
give  Rose  a  pail  of  water,  he  informed  her  that 
c  You'n  me,  Rose,  is  the  only  folks  I  see  anywhar 
'bout  here  with  any  sense." 

Neighbors  soon  discovered  us  ;  and  to  my  joy  I 
found  that  Mrs.  Gibson,  Mrs.  Meade,  and  Mr. 
Bishop  —  one  of  my  father's  elders  —  were  in  their 
own  houses,  very  near  my  temporary  shelter. 


256  My  Day 

Our  father,  I  learned  afterwards,  was  with  the 
hospital  service  of  his  corps,  and  had  been  sent  to 
the  rear.  I  sent  John  back  to  the  farm,  strictly 
ordering  that  the  flag  should  be  cared  for.  He  told 
me  it  was  safe.  He  had  hidden  it  under  some  fence 
rails  in  the  cellar.  As  to  the  battle,  he  had  no  news, 
except  that  "  Marse  Roger  is  giving  away  everything 
on  the  earth.  All  the  presents  from  the  farmer  will 
go  in  a  little  while." 

In  the  evening  my  little  boys,  envoys  from  their 
father,  came  in  with  confidential  news.  The  day 
had  gone  against  us.  General  Lee  was  holding  the 
line  through  our  garden.  The  city  would  be  sur 
rendered  at  midnight.  Their  father  was  giving  all 
our  stores  of  food  and  all  his  Confederate  money  to 
the  private  soldiers,  a  fact  which  evidently  impressed 
them  most  of  all. 

I  have  told  the  thrilling  story  of  the  ensuing  events 
elsewhere.  Having  been  compelled  to  repeat  much, 
I  must  now  hasten  on,  —  only  briefly  recording  my 
husband's  recapture,  release  on  parole,  and  continued 
recapture  every  time  the  occupying  troops  were  re 
placed  by  a  new  division. 

The  day  the  Federals  entered  the  town  I  saw  our 
precious  banner  borne  in  triumph  past  the  door. 
The  dear  Petersburg  women  had  made  it  and  given 
it  to  their  brave  defender  ;  it  was  coming  back,  amid 
shouts  and  songs  of  derision,  a  captive  !  As  the 
troops  passed  they  sang,  to  their  battle  hymn  :  — 

"John  Brown's  body  is  a-mouldering  in  the  ground, 

As  we  go  marching  on  ! 
Oh,  glory  hallelujah, 

As  we  go  marching  on  !  * ' 


My  Day  257 

And  down  the  line  the  tune  was  caught  by  advancing 

soldiers :  — 

"  Hang  Jeff  Davis  on  a  sour  apple  tree, 

As  we  go  marching  on. 
Oh,  glory  hallelujah,"  etc. 

"  Ole  Uncle  Frank's  at  de  bottom  of  dis  business," 
said  Alick ;  and  alas  !  we  had  reason  to  believe 
that  the  wily  old  gentleman  —  whom  we  had  left 
hiding  in  the  cellar  and  imploring  "  for  Gawd's  sake, 
Jinny,  bring  me  a  gode  o'  water  "  —  had  purchased 
favor  by  revealing  the  hiding-place  of  our  banner. 

Early  that  morning  German  soldiers  had  rushed 
into  our  house  demanding  prisoners.  My  husband 
was  marched  off  to  headquarters,  and  the  parole 
written  by  Mr.  Lincoln  himself  on  a  visiting-card 
respected.  The  morning  was  filled  with  exciting 
incidents.  Our  English  "  colonel "  came  early : 
"To  say  good-by,  madam!  It's  a  shame!  —  and 
all  just  a  question  of  bread  and  cheese  —  nothing 
but  bread  and  cheese!  " 

We  sat  all  day  in  the  front  room,  watching  the 
splendidly  equipped  host  as  it  marched  by  on  its 
way  to  capture  Lee.  It  soon  became  known  that  we 
were  there.  Within  the  next  few  days  we  had  calls 
from  old  Washington  friends.  Among  others  my 
husband  was  visited  by  Elihu  B.  Washburne  and  Sena 
tor  Henry  Wilson,  afterward  Vice-president  of  the 
United  States  with  General  Grant.  These  paid  long 
visits  and  talked  kindly  and  earnestly  of  the  South. 

Mr.  Lincoln  soon  arrived  and  sent  for  my  hus 
band.  But  General  Pryor  excused  himself,  saying 
that  he  was  a  paroled  prisoner,  that  General  Lee  was 


258  My  Day 

still  in  the  field,  and  that  he  could  hold  no  confer 
ence  with  the  head  of  the  opposing  army. 

The  splendid  troops  passed  continually.  Our 
hearts  sank  within  us.  We  had  but  one  hope — 
that  General  Lee  would  join  Joseph  E.  Johnston  and 
find  his  way  to  the  mountains  of  Virginia,  those 
ramparts  of  nature  which  might  afford  protection 
until  we  could  rest  and  recruit. 

Intelligence  of  the  death  of  President  Lincoln 
reached  Petersburg  on  the  iyth  of  April.  As  he  had 
been  with  us  but  a  few  days  before,  manifestly  in 
perfect  health  and  in  all  the  glow  and  gladness  of 
the  triumph  of  the  Federal  arms,  the  community 
was  unspeakably  shocked  by  the  catastrophe.  That 
he  fell  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin,  and  that  the  deed 
was  done  by  a  Confederate  and  avowedly  in  the  in 
terest  of  the  Confederate  cause,  were  circumstances 
which  distressed  us  with  an  apprehension  that  the 
entire  South  would  be  held  responsible  for  the  atro 
cious  occurrence.  The  day  after  the  tragic  news 
reached  us,  the  people  of  Petersburg  in  public  meet 
ing  adopted  resolutions  framed  by  General  Pryor, 
deploring  the  President's  death  and  denouncing  his 
assassination,  —  resolutions  which  gave  expression 
to  the  earnest  and  universal  sentiment  of  Virginia. 
I  question  if,  in  any  quarter  of  the  country,  the  vir 
tues  of  Abraham  Lincoln  —  as  exhibited  in  his  spirit 
of  forgiveness  and  forbearance  —  are  more  revered 
than  in  the  very  section  which  was  the  battle-ground 
of  the  fight  for  independence  of  his  rule.  It  is  cer 
tainly  my  husband's  conviction  that  had  he  lived,  the 
South  would  never  have  suffered  the  shame  and  sor 
row  of  the  carpet-bag  regime. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

MY  condition  during  the  military  occupation 
of  Petersburg  was  extremely  unpleasant.  I 
was  alone  with  my  children  when  General 
Sheridan  demanded  my  house  for  an  adjutant's 
office.  Such  alarming  rumors  had  reached  us  of 
outrages  committed  by  marauding  parties  in  the 
neighboring  counties  that  my  husband  had  obtained 
an  extension  of  his  parole  to  visit  his  sisters  in  Not- 
toway  County.  His  first  information  of  them  was 
from  finding  their  garments  in  a  wagon  driven  by 
German  soldiers,  who,  challenged  by  the  barrel  of 
a  pistol,  made  good  their  escape,  leaving  their 
plunder  behind  them.  The  fate  of  his  sisters  was 
not  discovered  for  some  time.  They  had  found 
means  to  hide  when  the  thieves  appeared. 

General  Sheridan,  meanwhile,  kept  me  prisoner  in 
two  rooms  for  ten  days,  and  very  trying  was  the  ex 
perience  of  those  days.  He  called  to  "  make  his 
respects  "  to  me  the  day  he  left,  and  although  I  re 
ceived  him  courteously  he  was  fully  aware  that  I 
appreciated  the  indignity  he  had  put  upon  me  and 
the  record  he  had  made  before  I  met  him.  He 
thanked  me  for  the  patience  with  which  I  had  en 
dured  the  ceaseless  noise,  tramping,  and  confusion, 
night  and  day,  of  the  adjutant's  office,  and  apolo 
gized  for  the  policy  he  had  adopted  all  through  the 
war, 

259 


260  My  Day 

"It  was  the  best  thing  to  do,"  he  informed  me. 
"  The  only  way  to  stamp  out  this  rebellion  was  to 
handle  it  without  gloves." 

I  made  no  answer.  "  The  mailed  hand  might 
crush  the  women  and  babes/'  I  thought,  "  but  never, 
never  kill  the  spirit !  " 

However,  they  departed  at  last  —  leaving  me  a 
huge  gas-bill  to  pay  and  a  house  polluted  with  dirt 
and  dust.  My  husband,  still  a  paroled  prisoner,  at 
the  end  of  his  leave  of  absence  returned  to  me  and 
reported  to  the  authorities. 

We  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  General  Warren, 
who  had  been  superseded  by  Sheridan  and  was  now 
without  a  command.  We  grew  very  fond  of  him. 
He  spent  many  hours  with  us.  Tactful,  sympa 
thetic,  and  kind,  he  never  grieved  or  offended  us. 
One  evening  he  silently  took  his  seat.  Presently  he 
said :  — 

"  I  have  news  which  will  be  painful  to  you.  It 
hurts  me  to  tell  you,  but  I  think  you  had  rather 
hear  it  from  me  than  from  a  stranger  —  General  Lee 
has  surrendered." 

It  was  an  awful  blow  to  us.  All  was  over.  All 
the  suffering,  bloodshed,  death  —  all  for  nothing ! 

General  Johnston's  army  was  surrendered  to 
General  Sherman  in  North  Carolina  on  April  26. 
The  banner  which  had  led  the  armies  of  the  South 
through  fire  and  blood  to  victory,  to  defeat,  in  times 
of  starvation,  cold,  and  friendlessness ;  the  banner 
that  many  a  husband  and  lover  had  waved  aloft  on 
a  forlorn  hope  until  it  fell  from  his  lifeless  hands  ; 
the  banner  found  under  the  dying  boy  at  Gettysburg, 


My  Day  261 

who  had  smilingly  refused  assistance  lest  it  be  dis 
covered, —  the  banner  of  a  thousand  histories  was 
furled  forever,  with  none  so  poor  to  do  it  reverence. 

My  dear  general  was  not  free  until  Johnston  sur- 
endered.  His  flag  was  still  in  the  field,  but  he  was 
allowed  to  go  to  Richmond,  twenty  miles  away,  to  seek 
work  of  some  kind  to  meet  our  present  necessities. 
My  servants  came  in  from  Cottage  Farm,  and  every 
one  begged  to  remain  and  serve  me  "for  the  good  "  I 
had  "  already  done  them,"  but  this,  of  course,  I  could 
not  permit.  My  faithful  John  protested  passion 
ately  against  accepting  his  freedom,  but  I  was  firm 
in  demanding  he  should  return  to  his  father  in  Nor 
folk.  He  had  earned  five  dollars  in  United  States 
money ;  I  had  five  more  which  my  little  boys  had 
gained  in  a  small  cigar  speculation.  This  I  gave 
him. 

"  Now  don't  let  me  see  you  here  to-morrow,  John. 
Write  to  me  from  Norfolk." 

The  next  morning  he  was  gone,  and  I  had  a  grate 
ful  letter  from  his  old  father,  who  expressed,  how 
ever,  some  anxiety  about  his  "  army  habits." 

We  had  soon  occasion  to  regret  the  absence  of  the 
protecting  soldiers.  Almost  immediately  a  tall, 
lantern-jawed  young  fellow  with  a  musket  on  his 
shoulder  marched  in.  I  was  alone,  and  he  walked 
up  to  me  with  a  threatening  aspect. 

"  What  do  you  want  here  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  I  want  whiskey  —  d'ye  hear  ?     Whiskey  !  " 

"You'll  not  get  it!" 

"Wall,  I  rayther  guess  you'll  have  to  scare  it  up ! 
I'll  search  the  house." 


262  My  Day 

"  Search  away,"  I  blithely  requested  him.  "  Search 
away,  and  I'll  call  the  provost  guard  to  help  you  !  " 

He  turned  and  marched  out.  At  the  door  he 
sent  me  a  Parthian  arrow. 

"  Wall !  You've  got  a  damned  tongue  in  yer 
head  ef  you  ain't  got  no  whiskey." 

I  repeat  this  story  because  my  husband  has  always 
considered  it  a  good  one  —  too  good  to  be  forgotten  ! 

The  time  now  came  when  I  must  draw  rations 
for  my  family.  I  could  not  do  this  by  proxy.  I 
was  required  to  present  my  request  in  person.  As 
I  walked  through  the  streets  in  early  morning,  I 
thought  I  had  never  known  a  lovelier  day.  How 
could  nature  spread  her  canopy  of  blossoming  mag 
nolia  and  locust  as  if  nothing  had  happened?  How 
could  the  vine  over  the  doorway  of  my  old  home 
load  itself  with  snowy  roses,  how  could  the  birds 
sing,  how  could  the  sun  rise,  as  if  such  things  as 
these  could  ever  again  gladden  our  broken  hearts  ? 

My  dear  little  sons  understood  they  were  to  es 
cort  me  everywhere,  so  we  presented  ourselves  to 
gether  at  the  desk  of  the  government  official  and 
announced  our  errand. 

"  Have  you  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance,  madam  ? " 
inquired  that  gentleman. 

"  No,  sir."  I  was  quite  prepared  to  take  the 
oath. 

The  young  officer  looked  at  me  seriously  for  a 
moment,  and  said,  as  he  wrote  out  the  order :  — 

"  Neither  will  I  require  it  of  you,  madam  !  " 

I  was  in  better  spirits  after  this  pleasant  incident, 
and  calling  to  Alick,  I  bade  him  arm  himself  with 


My  Day  263 

the  largest  basket  he  could  find  and  take  my  order 
to  the  commissary. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  all  sorts  of  good  things," 
I  told  him,  "  fresh  meat,  fruit,  vegetables,  and 
everything." 

When  the  boy  returned,  he  presented  a  drooping 
figure  and  a  woebegone  face.  My  first  unworthy 
suspicion  suggested  his  possible  confiscation  of  my 
stores  for  drink,  —  for  which  my  poor  Alick  had  a 
weakness,  —  but  he  soon  explained. 

"  I  buried  that  ole  stinkin'  fish !  I  wouldn't 
bring  it  in  your  presence.  An'  here's  the  meal  they 
give  me." 

Hairy  caterpillars  were  jumping  through  the 
meal !  I  turned  to  my  table  and  wrote  :  — 

u  Is  the  commanding  general  aware  of  the  nature  of  the 
ration  issued  this  day  to  the  destitute  women  of  Peters 
burg  ? 

[Signing  myself]  "  MRS.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR." 

This  I  gave  to  Alick,  with  instructions  to  present 
it,  with  the  meal,  to  General  HartsufF. 

Alick  returned  with  no  answer  ;  but  in  a  few  min 
utes  a  tall  orderly  stood  before  me,  touched  his  cap, 
and  handed  me  a  note. 

"  Major-General  HartsufF  is  sorry  he  cannot  make  right 
all  that  seems  so  wrong.  He  sends  the  enclosed.  Some 
day  General  Pryor  will  repay. 

"  GEORGE  L.  HARTSUFF, 
"  Major-General  Commanding." 

The  note  contained  an  official  slip  of  paper :  — 


264  My  Day 

"  The  Quartermaster  and  Commissary  of  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  are  hereby  ordered  to  furnish  Mrs.  Roger  A. 
Pryor  with  all  she  may  demand  or  require,  charging  the 
same  to  the  private  account  of 

"  GEORGE  L.  HARTSUFF, 
"  Major-General  Commanding." 

Without  the  briefest  deliberation  I  wrote  and  re 
turned  the  following  reply  :  — 

"  Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor  is  not  insensible  to  the  generous 
offer  of  Major-General  HartsufF,  but  be  ought  to  have  known 
that  the  ration  allowed  the  destitute  women  of  Petersburg 
must  be  enough  for 

"  MRS.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR." 

As  I  sat  alone,  revolving  various  schemes  for  our 
sustenance,  —  the  selling  of  the  precious  testimonial 
service  (given  by  the  democracy  of  Virginia  after 
my  husband's  noble  fight  against  "Know-nothing- 
ism"),  the  possibility  of  finding  occupation  for  my 
self,  —  the  jingling  of  chain  harness  at  the  door 
arrested  my  attention.  There  stood  a  handsome 
equipage,  from  which  a  very  fine  lady  indeed  was 
alighting.  She  bustled  in  with  her  lace-edged  hand 
kerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  announced  herself  as  Mrs. 
HartsufF.  She  was  superbly  gowned  in  violet  silk 
and  lace,  with  a  tiny  fane bon  bonnet  tied  beneath  an 
enormous  cushion  of  hair  behind,  the  first  of  the 
fashionable  chignons  I  had  seen,  —  an  arrangement 
called  a  "waterfall,"  an  exaggeration  of  the  plethoric, 
distended  "  bun  "  of  the  Englishwoman  of  a  few 
years  ago. 


My  Day  265 

I  found  myself,  all  at  once,  conscious  that  I  must, 
in  this  lady's  eyes,  resemble  nothing  so  much  as  the 
wooden  Mrs.  Noah,  who  presides  over  the  animals 
in  the  children's  "  Noah's  arks."  Enormous  hoops 
were  then  in  fashion.  I  had  long  since  been  aban 
doned  by  mine,  and  never  been  able  to  get  my  own 
consent  to  borrow,  as  others  did,  from  a  friendly 
grape-vine.  My  gown  was  of  chocolate-colored 
calico  with  white  spots.  My  hair !  I  had  torn  it 
out  by  the  roots  when  I  was  delirious  at  the  time  of 
the  fierce  battle  of  Port  Walthall  (six  miles  from 
Petersburg),  which  I  had  beard,  my  senses  being 
quickened  by  fever. 

Mrs.  Hartsuff  began  hurriedly  :  "  Oh,  my  dear 
lady,  we  are  in  such  distress  at  headquarters  ! 
George  is  in  despair!  You  won't  let  him  help  you! 
Whatever  is  he  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  really  am  grateful  to  the  general,"  I  assured 
her ;  "  but  you  see  there  is  no  reason  he  should  do 
more  for  me  than  for  others." 

"  Oh,  but  there  is  reason.  You  have  suffered 
more  than  the  rest.  You  have  been  driven  from 
your  home  !  Your  house  has  been  sacked.  George 
knows  all  about  you.  I  have  brought  a  basket  for 
you  —  tea,  coffee,  sugar,  crackers." 

"  I  cannot  accept  it,  I  am  sorry." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do?  Are  you 
going  to  starve?  " 

"  Very  likely,"  I  said,  "but  somehow  I  shall  not 
very  much  mind  !" 

"  Oh,  this  is  too  utterly,  utterly  dreadful !  "  said 
the  lady  as  she  left  the  room. 


266  My  Day 

The  next  day  the  ration  was  changed.  Fresh 
meat,  coffee,  sugar,  and  canned  vegetables  were 
issued  to  all  the  women  of  Petersburg.  The  first 
morning  they  were  received  I  met  the  wife  of 
General  Weisiger  trudging  along  with  a  basket. 
"Going  for  your  rations?"  I  asked  her.  "No 
indeed!  I'm  going,  with  the  only  five  dollars  I 
have  in  the  world,  to  the  sutler's !  I  shall  buy,  as 
far  as  it  goes,  currants,  citron,  raisins,  sugar,  butter, 
eggs,  brandy,  spice - 

"  Mercy  !     Are  you  to  open  a  grocery  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it"  —  solemnly — "I'm  going  to 
make  a  fruit  cake!" 

Less,  one  might  think,  should  have  contented  a 
starving  woman  !  The  little  incident  is  characteristic 
of  the  Southern  woman's  temperament.  She  can  lie  as 
patiently  as  another  under  the  heel  of  a  hard  fate,  but 
the  moment  the  heel  is  lifted  she  is  ready  for  a  festival. 

All  the  citizens  who  had  been  driven  away  now 
began  to  return  —  among  them  the  owners  of  the 
house  I  was  occupying,  and  I  was  compelled  to  re 
turn  to  Cottage  Farm.  General  Hartsuff,  to  whom 
I  applied  for  a  guard,  said  at  once  :  - 

"  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  go  to  Cottage  Farm; 
there  are  fifty  or  more  negroes  on  the  place.  You 
cannot  live  there." 

"  I  must !     It  is  my  only  shelter." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  allow  you  a  guard,  and  Mrs. 
Hartsuff  had  better  take  you  out  herself,  that  is,  if 
you  can  condescend  to  accept  as  much." 

I  was  not  aware  that  Mrs.  Hartsuff  had  entered 
and  stood  behind  me. 


My  Day  267 

"  And  I  think,  George,"  she  said,  "  you  ought  to 
give  Mrs.  Pryor  a  horse  and  cart  in  place  of  her 
own  that  were  stolen."  Before  my  conscience 
could  strengthen  itself  to  protest  that  I  had  not 
owned  a  horse  and  cart,  the  general  exclaimed  :  "  All 
right,  all  right !  Madam,  you  will  find  the  guard  at 
your  door  when  you  arrive.  You  go  this  evening  ? 
All  right  —  good  morning." 

Mrs.  Hartsuff  duly  appeared  in  the  late  afternoon 
with  an  ambulance  and  four  horses,  and  we  departed 
in  fine  style.  She  was  very  cheery  and  agreeable, 
and  made  me  promise  to  let  her  come  often  to  see 
me.  As  we  were  galloping  along  in  state,  we 
passed  a  line  of  weary-looking  dusty  Confederate 
soldiers,  limping  along,  on  their  way  to  their  homes. 
They  stood  aside  to  let  us  pass.  I  was  cut  to  the 
heart  at  the  spectacle.  Here  was  I,  accepting  the 
handsome  equipage  of  the  invading  commander  —  I, 
who  had  done  nothing,  going  on  to  my  comfort 
able  home  ;  while  they,  poor  fellows,  who  had  borne 
long  years  of  battle  and  starvation,  were  mournfully 
returning  on  foot,  to  find,  perhaps,  no  home  to  shel 
ter  them.  cc  Never  again,"  I  said  to  myself,  cc  shall 
this  happen  !  If  I  cannot  help,  I  can  at  least 
suffer  with  them." 

But  when  I  reached  Cottage  Farm,  I  found  a  home 
that  no  soldier,  however  forlorn,  could  have  en 
vied  me.  A  scene  of  desolation  met  my  eyes. 
The  earth  was  ploughed  and  trampled,  the  grass  and 
flowers  were  gone,  the  carcasses  of  six  dead  cows 
lay  in  the  yard,  and  filth  unspeakable  had  gathered 
in  the  corners  of  the  house.  The  evening  air 


268  My  Day 

was  heavy  with  the  odor  of  decaying  flesh.  As  the 
front  door  opened,  millions  of  flies  swarmed  forth. 

"  If  this  were  I,"  said  Mrs.  HartsufF,  as  she 
gathered  her  skirts  as  closely  around  her  as  her 
hoops  would  permit,  "  I  should  fall  across  this 
threshold  and  die." 

"  I  shall  not  fall,"  I  said  proudly ;  "  I  shall  stand 
in  my  lot." 

Within  was  dirt  and  desolation.  Pieces  of  fat 
pork  lay  on  the  floors,  molasses  trickled  from 
the  library  shelves,  where  bottles  lay  uncorked. 
Filthy,  malodorous  tin  cans  were  scattered  on  the 
floors.  Nothing,  not  even  a  tin  dipper  to  drink 
out  of  the  well,  was  left  in  the  house,  except  one 
chair  out  of  which  the  bottom  had  been  cut  and 
one  bedstead  fastened  together  with  bayonets. 
Picture  frames  were  piled  against  the  wall.  I 
eagerly  examined  them.  Every  one  was  empty. 
One  family  portrait  of  an  old  lady  was  hanging  on 
the  wall  with  a  sabre  cut  across  her  face. 

To  my  great  joy  Aunt  Jinny  appeared,  full  of 
sympathy  and  resource.  She  gathered  us  into  her 
kitchen  while  she  swept  the  cleanest  room  for  us 
and  spread  quilts  upon  the  floor.  Later  in  the 
evening  an  ambulance  from  Mrs.  HartsufF  drove 
up.  She  had  sent  me  a  tin  box  of  bread  and  but 
ter  sandwiches,  some  tea,  an  army  cot,  and  army 
bedding. 

The  guard,  a  great  tall  fellow,  came  to  me  for 
orders.  I  felt  nervous  at  his  presence  and  wished 
I  had  not  brought  him.  I  directed  him  to  watch 
all  night  at  the  road  side  of  the  house,  while  I  would 


My  Day  269 

sit  up  and  keep  watch  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  children  soon  slept  upon  the  floor. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  I  grew  extremely  anxious 
about  the  strange  negroes.  Aunt  Jinny  thought 
there  were  not  more  than  fifty.  They  had  filled 
every  outhouse  except  the  kitchen.  Suppose  they 
should  overpower  the  guard  and  murder  us  all ! 

Everything  was  quiet.  I  had  not  the  least  dis 
position  to  sleep  —  thinking,  thinking  of  all  the  old 
woman  had  told  me :  of  the  sacking  of  the  house,  of 
the  digging  of  the  cellar  in  search  of  treasure,  of  the 
torch  that  had  twice  been  applied  to  the  house  and 
twice  withdrawn  because  some  officer  wanted  the 
shaded  dwelling  for  a  temporary  lodging.  Presently 
I  was  startled  by  a  shrill  scream  from  the  kitchen,  a 
door  opened  suddenly  and  shut,  and  a  voice  cried : 
"Thank  Gawd!  Thank  Gawd  A'mighty  ! "  Then 
all  was  still. 

Was  this  a  signal  ?  I  held  my  breath  and 
listened,  then  softly  rose,  closed  the  shutters  and 
fastened  them,  crept  to  the  door,  and  bolted  it  in 
side.  I  might  defend  my  children  till  the  guard 
could  come. 

Evidently  he  had  not  heard !  He  was  probably 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  an  untroubled  conscience  on 
the  bench  in  the  front  porch.  And  with  untroubled 
consciences  my  children  were  sleeping.  It  was  so 
dark  in  the  room  I  could  not  see  their  faces,  but  I 
could  touch  them,  and  push  the  wet  locks  from 
their  brows,  as  they  lay  in  the  close  and  heated 
atmosphere. 

I  resumed  my  watch  at  the  window,  pressing  my 


270  My  Day 

face  close  to  the  slats  of  the  shutters.  A  pale  half- 
moon  hung  low  in  the  sky,  turning  its  averted  face 
from  a  suffering  world.  At  a  little  distance  I 
could  see  the  freshly  made  soldier's  grave  which 
Alick  had  discovered  and  reported.  A  heavy  rain 
had  fallen  in  the  first  hours  of  the  night,  and  a  stiff 
arm  and  hand  now  protruded  from  the  shallow 
grave.  To-morrow  I  would  reverently  cover  the 
appealing  arm,  be  it  clad  in  blue  or  in  gray,  and 
would  mark  the  spot.  Now,  as  I  sat  with  my 
fascinated  gaze  upon  it,  I  thought  of  the  tens  of 
thousands,  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  up 
turned  faces  beneath  the  green  sod  of  old  Virginia. 
Strong  in  early  manhood,  grave,  high-spirited  men 
of  genius,  men  whom  their  country  had  educated 
for  her  own  defence  in  time  of  peril,  —  they  had  died 
because  that  country  could  devise  in  her  wisdom  no 
better  means  of  settling  a  family  quarrel  than  the 
wholesale  slaughter  of  her  sons  by  the  sword.  And 
now?  "Not  until  the  heavens  be  no  more  shall 
they  awake  nor  be  raised  out  of  their  sleep." 

And  then,  as  I  sorrowed  for  their  early  death  in 
loneliness  and  anguish,  I  remembered  the  white- 
robed  souls  beneath  the  altar  of  God,  —  the  souls 
that  had  "  come  out  of  great  tribulation,"  and 
because  they  had  thus  suffered  "they  shall  hunger 
no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more ;  .  .  .  and  God  shall 
wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

And  then,  as  the  pale,  distressful  moon  sank  be 
hind  the  trees,  and  the  red  dawn  streamed  up  from 
the  east,  the  Angel  of  Hope,  who  had  "spread  her 
white  wings  and  sped  her  away  "  for  a  little  season, 


My  Day  271 

returned.  And  Hope  held  by  the  hand  an  angel 
stronger  than  she,  who  bore  to  me  a  message:  "In 
the  world  ye  have  tribulations ;  but  be  of  good 
cheer ;  I  have  overcome  the  world.'* 

The  sun  was  rising  when  I  saw  my  good  old 
friend  emerge  from  her  kitchen,  and  I  opened  the 
shutters  to  greet  her.  She  had  brought  me  a  cup 
of  delicious  coffee,  and  was  much  distressed  because 
I  had  not  slept.  Had  I  heard  anything? 

"  'Course  I  know  you  was  bleeged  to  hear,"  said 
Aunt  Jinny,  as  she  bustled  over  the  children. 
"  That  was  Sis'  Winny !  She  got  happy  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  an'  Gawd  knows  what  she 
would  have  done  if  Frank  hadn't  ketched  hold 
of  her  and  pulled  her  back  in  the  kitchen  !  Frank 
an'  me  is  pretty  nigh  outdone  an'  discouraged  'bout 
Sis'  Winny.  She  prays  constant  all  day  ;  but  Gawd 
A'mighty  don't  count  on  being  bothered  all  night. 
Ain't  He  'ranged  for  us  all  to  sleep,  an'  let  Him 
have  a  little  peace  ?  Sis'  Winny  must  keep  her 
happiness  to  herself,  when  folks  is  trying  to  git  some 
res'." 

The  guard  now  came  to  my  window  to  say  he 
"  guessed  "  he'd  "  have  to  put  on  some  more  harness. 
Them  blamed  niggers  refused  to  leave.  They  might 
change  their  minds  when  they  saw  the  pistols." 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't  shoot,  would  you  ?  "  I  said 
in  great  distress.  "  Call  them  all  to  the  back  door 
and  let  me  speak  with  them."  I  found  myself  in 
the  presence  of  some  seventy-five  negroes,  men, 
women,  and  children,  all  with  upturned  faces,  keenly 
interested  in  what  I  should  say  to  them. 


272  My  Day 

I  talked  to  them  kindly  and  explained  my  pres 
ence,  asking  them  to  remain,  if  they  would  help 
clean  the  yard,  with  the  result  that  Abram  and 
Beverly,  two  old  men  who  had  known  my  general 
in  his  boyhood,  pledged  themselves  to  stay  with  me 
on  the  terms  I  suggested. 

To  my  great  joy,  my  dear  husband  returned  from 
Richmond.  There  was  no  hope  there  for  lucrative 
occupation.  He  had  no  profession.  He  had  for 
gotten  all  the  little  law  he  had  learned  at  the  uni 
versity.  He  had  been  an  editor,  diplomat,  politician, 
and  soldier,  and  distinguished  himself  in  all  four. 
These  were  now  closed  to  him  forever !  There 
seemed  to  be  no  room  for  a  rebel  in  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

WE  found  it  almost  impossible  to  take  up  our 
lives  again.    All  the  cords  binding  us  to  the 
past  were  severed,  beyond  the  hope  of  re 
union.     We  sat  silently  looking  out  on  a  landscape 
marked  here  and  there  by  chimneys  standing  sen 
tinel   over   blackened   heaps,  where   our    neighbors 
had  made  happy  homes.     Only  one  remained,  Mr. 
Green's,  beyond  a  little  ravine  across  the  road. 

We  had,  fortunately,  no  inclination  to  read.  A 
few  books  had  been  saved,  only  those  for  which  we 
had  little  use.  A  soldier  walked  in  one  day  with  a 
handsome  volume  which  Jefferson  Davis,  after  in 
scribing  his  name  in  it,  had  presented  to  the  general. 
The  soldier  calmly  requested  the  former  owner  to 
be  kind  enough  to  add  to  the  value  of  the  volume 
by  writing  beneath  the  inscription  his  own  auto 
graph,  and  his  request  granted,  walked  off  with  it 
under  his  arm.  "He  has  been  at  some  trouble," 
said  my  husband,  "  and  he  had  as  well  be  happy  if  I 
cannot !  " 

As  the  various  brigades  moved  away  from  our 
neighborhood,  a  few  plain  articles  of  furniture  that 
had  been  taken  from  the  house  were  restored  to 
us,  but  nothing  handsome  or  valuable,  no  books 
nor  pictures, — just  a  few  chairs  and  tables.  I  had 
furnished  an  itemized  list  of  all  the  articles  we  had 
lost,  with  only  this  result. 
T  273 


274  My  Day 

We  had  news  after  a  while  of  our  blooded  mare, 
Lady  Jane.  A  letter  enclosing  her  photograph  came 
from  a  New  England  officer:  — 

u  To  MR.  PRYOR, 

"  Dear  Sir :  A  very  fine  mare  belonging  to  you  came  into 
my  camp  near  Richmond  and  is  now  with  me.  It  would 
add  much  to  her  value  if  I  could  get  her  pedigree.  Kindly 
send  it  at  your  earliest  convenience,  and  oblige, 

u  Yours  truly, 

ic t 

"  P.S.  The  mare  is  in  good  health,  as  you  will  doubtless 
be  glad  to  know." 

Disposed  as  my  general  was  to  be  amiable,  this 
was  a  little  too  much  !  The  pedigree  was  not  sent, 
but  later  the  amiable  owner  of  Lady  Jane  sent  her 
photograph.  Also  his  own  —  on  her  back. 

A  great  number  of  tourists  soon  began  to  pass  our 
house  on  their  way  to  visit  the  localities  near  us, 
now  become  historic.  They  frequently  called  upon 
us,  claiming  some  common  acquaintance.  We  could 
not  but  resent  this.  Their  sympathetic  attitude  of 
fended  us,  sore  and  proud  as  we  were. 

We  were  perfectly  aware  that  they  wished  to  see  us, 
and  not  to  gain,  as  they  affected,  information  about 
the  historic  localities  on  the  farm.  Still  less  did 
they  desire  ignobly  to  triumph  over  us.  A  boy, 
when  he  tears  off  the  wings  of  a  fly,  is  much  inter 
ested  in  observing  its  actions,  not  that  he  is  cruel  — 
far  from  it !  He  is  only  curious  to  see  how  the 
creature  will  behave  under  very  disadvantageous 
circumstances. 


My  Day  275 

One  day  a  clergyman  called,  with  a  card  of  intro 
duction  from  Mrs.  Hartsuff,  who  had,  I  imagine, 
small  discernment  as  regards  clergymen.  This  one 
was  a  smug  little  man,  sleek,  unctuous,  and  trim, 
with  Pecksniffian  self-esteem  oozing  out  of  every 
pore  of  his  face. 

"  Well,  madam,"  he  commenced,  "  I  trust  I  find 
you  lying  meekly  under  the  chastening  rod  of  the 
Lord.  I  trust  you  can  say  *  it  is  good  I  was 
afflicted/  ' 

Having  no  suitable  answer  just  ready,  I  received 
his  pious  exhortation  in  silence.  One  can  always 
safely  do  this  with  a  clergyman. 

"  There  are  seasons,"  continued  the  good  man, 
"  when  chastisement  must  be  meted  out  to  the  trans 
gressor;  but  if  borne  in  the  right  spirit,  the  rod  may 
blossom  with  blessings  in  the  end." 

A  little  more  of  the  same  nature  wrung  from  me 
the  query,  "  Are  there  none  on  the  other  side  who 
need  the  rod  ?  " 

"Oh  —  well,  now  —  my  dear  lady!  You  must 
consider !  You  were  in  the  wrong  in  this  unhappy 
contest,  or,  I  should  say,  this  most  righteous 


war." 


"  VCR  metis  I  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Our  homes  were 
invaded.  We  are  on  our  own  soil !  " 

My  reverend  brother  grew  red  in  the  face.  Ris 
ing  and  bowing  himself  out,  he  sent  me  a  Parthian 
arrow :  — 

"  No  thief  e'er  felt  the  halter  draw 
With  good  opinion  of  the  law. ' ' 


276  My  Day 

Fortunately  my  general  was  absent  at  the  moment. 
Like  the  Douglas,  he  had  endured  much,  but  — 

"  Last  and  worst,  Co  spirit  proud 
To  bear  the  pity  of  the  crowd  '  '  — 

this  was  more  than  he  could  endure. 

The  suggestive  odors  within  doors  could  never  be 
stifled  or  cleansed  away.  Not  before  October 
could  I  get  my  consent  to  eat  a  morsel  in  the  house. 
I  took  my  meals  under  the  trees,  unless  driven  by 
the  rains  to  the  shelter  of  the  porch.  I  suffered  terri 
bly  for  want  of  occupation.  I  had  no  household  to 
manage,  no  garments  to  mend  or  make.  My  little 
Lucy  could  not  bear  the  sun,  and  she  sat  quietly 
beside  me  all  day.  I  could  have  made  a  sun-bonnet 
for  her,  but  I  had  no  fabric,  no  thimble,  needles, 
thread,  or  scissors.  Finally  I  discovered  in  the  pocket 
of  one  of  my  Washington  coats  my  silver  card-case 
with  Trinity  Church  on  one  side  and  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  on  the  other,  —  objects  I  had  now  no 
right  to  hold  dear.  I  made  Alick  drive  me  in  my 
little  farm  cart  to  the  sutler's  and  effected  an  exchange 
for  a  small  straw  "  Shaker  "  bonnet  which  I  am  sure 
could  have  been  purchased  for  less  than  one  dollar. 
Protected  with  this,  the  little  girl  found  a  play-house 
under  the  trees.  A  good  old  friend,  Mr.  Kemp, 
invited  the  boys  to  accompany  him  upon  relic-hunt 
ing  expeditions  to  the  narrow  plain  which  had  divided 
the  opposing  lines  on  that  fateful  April  morning 
just  three  months  before.  Ropes  were  fastened 
around  extinct  shells,  and  they  were  hauled  in,  to 
stand  sentinel  at  the  door.  The  shells  were  short 


My  Day  277 

cylinders,  with  one  pointed  end  like  a  candle 
before  it  is  lighted.  Numbers  of  minie  balls  were 
dug  out  of  the  sand.  One  day  Mr.  Kemp  brought 
in  a  great  curiosity  —  two  bullets  welded  together, 
having  been  shot  from  opposing  rifles. 

The  sultry  days  were  begun  and  rounded  by  hours 
of  listless  endurance  followed  by  troubled  sleep.  A 
bag  of  army  "  hard-tack  "  stood  in  a  corner,  so  the 
children  were  never  hungry.  Presently  they,  too, 
sat  around  us,  too  listless  to  play  or  talk.  A  great 
army  of  large,  light  brown  Norway  rats  now  overran 
the  farm.  They  would  walk  to  the  corner  before 
our  eyes  and  help  themselves  to  the  army  ration. 
We  never  moved  a  finger  to  drive  them  away. 
After  a  while  Alick  appeared  with  an  enormous 
black-and-white  cat. 

"  Dis  is  jest  a  lettle  mo'n  I  can  stand/'  said  Alick. 
"  De  Yankees  has  stole  ev'rything,  and  dug  up  de 
whole  face  o*  de  yearth  —  and  de  Jews  comes  all  de 
time  and  pizens  de  well,  droppin'  down  chains  an' 
grapplin'-irons  to  see  ef  we-all  has  hid  silver — but 
I  ain'  obleedged  to  stan'  sassyness  fum  dese  out 
landish  rats." 

Alick  had  to  surrender.  The  very  first  night 
after  the  arrival  of  his  valiant  cat  there  was  a  scuffle 
in  the  room  where  the  crackers  were  kept,  a  chair 
was  overturned,  and  a  flying  cat  burst  through  the 
hall,  pursued  by  three  or  four  huge  rats.  The  cat 
took  refuge  in  a  tree,  and  stealthily  descending  at 
an  opportune  moment,  stole  away  and  left  the  field 
to  the  enemy. 

Of  course  there  could  be  but  one  result  from  this 


278  My  Day 

life.  Malaria  had  hung  over  us  for  weeks,  and  now 
one  after  another  of  the  children  lay  down  upon  the 
"  pallets  "  on  the  floor,  ill  with  fever.  Then  I  suc 
cumbed  and  was  violently  ill.  Our  only  nurse  was 
my  dear  general ;  and  not  in  all  the  years  when  he 
never  shirked  a  duty,  nor  lost  a  march,  nor  rode  on 
his  own  horse  when  his  men  toiled  on  foot  or  if 
one  failed  by  the  way,  nor  ever  lost  one  of  the 
battles  in  which  he  personally  led  them,  —  not  in  all 
those  trying  times  was  he  nobler,  grander  than  in 
his  long  and  lonely  vigils  beside  his  sick  family. 
And  most  nobly  did  the  aged  negress,  my  blessed 
Aunt  Jinny,  stand  by  us.  My  one  fevered  vision 
was  of  an  ebony  idol. 

General  and  Mrs.  Hartsuffwere  terribly  afraid  of 
the  Southern  fevers,  but  sent  us  sympathetic  mes 
sages  from  the  gate.  But  as  soon  as  I  could  receive 
him,  Captain  Gregory,  the  commissary  general,  sought 
an  interview  with  me.  General  HartsufF  had  sent 
him  to  say  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  Gen 
eral  Pryor  to  leave  Virginia.  He  had  never  been 
pardoned.  There  were  men  in  power  who  con 
stantly  hinted  at  punishment  and  retribution.  He 
had  been  approached  by  General  Hartsuff  and  ve 
hemently  refused  to  leave  his  family. 

"Where,  oh,  where  could  he  go?"  I  pleaded. 
"  He  does  think  sometimes  of  New  Orleans." 

"  Madam,"  said  Captain  Gregory,  "  there  is  a 
future  before  your  husband.  New  York  is  the 
place  for  him." 

"He  will  never,  never  consent  to  go  there,"  I 
said. 


My  Day  279 

"  Well,  then,  we  must  use  a  little  diplomacy. 
Send  him  by  sea  to  shake  off  his  chills.  Mark  my 
words  —  as  soon  as  he  registers  in  New  York,  friends 
will  gather  around  him.  Only  send  him — and  speed 
ily.  I  come  from  General  Hartsuff." 

My  Theo  was  listening  to  this  conversation,  and 
when  Captain  Gregory  left,  he  implored  me  to  obey 
him.  Without  consulting  his  father  the  old  horse 
General  HartsufFhad  given  me  was  hitched  to  the 
little  cart,  and  we  set  forth  to  find  some  broker 
who  would  lend  us  a  small  sum,  receiving  my  watch 
and  diamond  ring  as  pledges  for  repayment. 

After  several  failures  we  found  an  obliging  banker 
who  lent  me,  upon  my  proposed  security,  three 
hundred  dollars.  As  I  left  his  office  my  hand 
instinctively  sought  my  little  watch  to  learn  the  hour. 
It  was  gone!  —  pledged  to  send  my  general  to  New 
York.  I  bought  some  quinine  and  ordered  my 
husband's  tailor  to  make  without  delay  a  suit  of 
clothes  to  replace  the  threadbare  uniform  of  Confed 
erate  gray.  It  was  difficult  to  persuade  the  wearer 
to  accept  the  proposition  —  which  was  only  for  the 
sea  voyage  in  order  to  break  the  chills  that  shook 
him  so  relentlessly  every  third  day.  Nothing  was 
farther  from  my  thought  or  wishes  than  a  permanent 
residence  in  New  York. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

IT  was  supposed  that  my  husband  would  be  ab 
sent  only  a  week.  The  following  letter  from 
New  York  explains  his  delay  :  — 

"  I  had  intended  leaving  here  yesterday,  but  our  friend, 
General  Warren,  invited  me  for  dinner  Sunday.  I  find  him 
in  a  handsome  house  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  city. 
Mrs.  Warren  inquired  kindly  about  you.  She  has  two 
charming  sisters  of  our  Gordon's  age. 

"  What  will  you  think  when  I  tell  you  that  several 
gentlemen  suggest  to  me  to  settle  here  ?  Dare  I  '  then, 
to  beard  the  lion  in  his  den  —  the  Douglas  in  his  hall!' 
Not  in  his  '  hall,'  certainly,  unless  I  am  very  specially  in 
vited  by  him,  but  I  might  in  time  wrestle  with  him,  in  a 
court-room.  I  have  a  mind  to  try  it.  'The  world  is  all 
before  us  where  to  choose.'  I  shouldn't  like  the  Douglas 
to  find  out  I  have  forgotten  all  the  law  I  ever  knew. 
Neither  would  I  like  my  good  old  Professor  Minor  (if  he 
reads  the  N.  Y.  reports)  to  make  a  similar  discovery." 

Close  upon  this  letter  followed  another. 

"  I  am  not  yet  determined  when  to  return.  I  was  to 
leave  this  morning,  but  Mr.  Ben  Wood  of  the  News  has 
requested  me  to  remain  a  day  or  two  that  he  might  have  a 
talk  with  me.  What  this  means,  I  am  not  sure.  I  con 
jecture  he  will  propose  some  connection  with  his  paper. 
By  the  last  of  the  week  you  may  expect  me  with  you." 

The  last  of  the  week  found  him  still  in  New  York. 
Early  in  October  he  wrote  :  — 

280 


My  Day  281 

u  I  have  accepted  Mr.  Wood's  proposition  for  the  present. 
The  only  difficulty  I  see  is  the  fact  that  they  refuse  me  a 
pardon.  If  they  learn  that  I  am  writing  for  the  News, 
they  may  send  me  to  keep  company  with  John  Mitchell. 
I  understand  that  charges  are  constantly  made  against  me 
in  Washington.  Whatever  they  are,  they  are  false, 
trumped  up  to  serve  some  sinister  purpose.  Yet  I  am  re 
solved  not  to  degrade  myself  by  any  abject  submission.  I 
have  never  solicited  c  pardon,'  and  I  mean  to  approach  them 
with  no  further  overture. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  liked  the  box.  Don't  scold  me  for 
extravagance.  You  have  suffered  long  enough  for  the  mere 
decencies  of  life.  I  am  going  to  work  like  a  beaver  and 
with  no  other  purpose  now  than  to  earn  a  living  for  my 
dear  wife  and  children.  Ambition !  The  ambition  of  my 
life  is  to  have  my  darlings  settled  in  comfort.  May  God 
assist  me  in  the  endeavor ! 

"My  room  is  at  47  West  I2th  Street.  There  you 
must  send  my  winter  clothes  —  and  we  must  try,  whatever 
is  left  undone,  to  send  the  boys  to  school." 

But  after  a  week  or  two  he  became  discouraged  at 
the  cost  of  living  in  New  York,  and  wavered  again. 

"  I  feel  I  cannot  bear  a  long  separation  from  my  dear 
family  —  my  darling  little  ones.  And  yet  how  can  I  main 
tain  them  here  ?  Is  it  not  a  cruel  fortune  which  tears  us 
asunder  when  our  delight  in  each  other  is  about  the  only 
source  of  happiness  left  us  in  this  world  ?  I  shall  lose,  in 
this  hopeless  grind,  all  the  elastic  energy  of  my  mind.  I 
cannot  live  without  you  !  Do  you  advise  me  to  continue 
my  connection  with  the  News  ?  Twenty-five  dollars  a 
week  is  a  pitiful  sum,  but  how  can  I  do  better  ?  If  I  can 
only  procure  the  comforts  of  life  for  my  family  !  That  is 
my  only  object  in  life  —  fame,  ambition,  office,  all  these 


282  My  Day 

things  I  have  renounced  forever.  Is  it  not  hard  that  one 
should  be  baffled  in  so  reasonable  an  endeavor  ?  I  can 
leave  here  at  any  moment,  my  connection  with  the  paper 
being  that  of  a  mere  contributor.  I  am  not  at  all  respon 
sible  for  its  course,  but  only  for  my  own  articles." 

Early  in  December  my  husband  wrote  me  the 
following  letter :  — 

"I  am  still  the  victim  of  ague  and  fever  —  the  worst  I 
ever  suffered.  The  chill  comes  on  every  alternate  day,  and 
during  its  continuance  —  about  two  hours  —  I  am  tortured 
with  the  most  agonizing  nausea,  followed  by  fever.  Thus 
I  spend  two  days  in  every  week.  Dr.  Whitehead  attends 
me  and  expects  to  relieve  me,  but  meanwhile  it  is  very  an 
noying  to  be  so  stricken  just  as  one  enters  the  fight. 

"  For  I  have  entered  the  fight !  The  die  is  cast  —  and 
here  I  mean  to  remain,  l  sink  or  swim,  survive  or  perish.' 
This  is  the  way  it  has  all  come  about. 

u  Sitting  late  one  night  with  Mr.  Ben  Wood  in  the 
News  office,  he  turned  to  me  and  said  rather  abruptly, 
c  General,  why  don't  you  practise  law  ?  You  would  make 
$10,000  a  year/  I  answered,  'For  the  best  of  all 
possible  reasons  —  I  am  not  a  lawyer.'  He  replied, 
'  Neither  is  C,  nor  T;  yet  they  make  $io,OOO  a  year.' 

"  Of  course  the  idea  of  my  ever  making  so  great  a  sum 
was  too  preposterous  for  a  moment's  thought.  Neverthe 
less,  Mr.  Wood  pressed  the  appeal ;  and  being  enforced  by 
Me  Masters  of  the  Freeman's  Journal,  it  made  an  impression 
on  my  mind.  I  said  nothing  to  you  about  it  at  the  time, 
because  I  had,  until  within  the  last  few  weeks,  reached  no 
decision  in  the  matter.  But  just  then  I  received  an  invita 
tion  from  Mr.  Luke  Cozzens  for  temporary  desk  room  in 
his  office  and  the  use  of  his  library.  I  have  really  borrowed 
books  and  been  studying  law  in  my  leisure  hours  ever  since 
I  came  to  the  city,  and  I  now  resolved  to  make  applica- 


My  Day  283 

tion  for  admittance  to  the  Bar !  The  application  was  made 
by  James  T.  Brady,  the  most  eminent  of  our  forensic  ora 
tors.  I  was  required  to  make  affidavit  of  my  residence  in 
the  State,  and  some  other  formal  facts,  but  such  was  my 
ignorance  of  legal  procedure  that  I  was  unable  to  draw  the 
affidavit,  which  Judge  Barnard  perceiving,  he  kindly  drew 
the  paper  for  me.  Thereupon  the  Hon.  John  B.  Haskins 
—  my  former  associate  in  Congress  —  was  appointed  to 
examine  me  as  to  my  knowledge  of  Law.  Under  his  lead 
we  went  to  a  restaurant.  When  seated  he  proceeded,  with 
much  solemnity  of  manner,  to  'examine*  me.  He  asked 
me, l  What  are  the  essentials  of  the  negotiability  of  a  note  ? ' 
This  question  I  was  prepared  to  answer,  and  did  answer  to 
his  satisfaction. 

"After  a  'judicial  pause,'  he  asked  gravely,  '  What  will 
you  take  ?  ' 

"This  also  I  was  fully  prepared  to  answer  —  and  entirely 
to  his  satisfaction. 

"  He  asked  me  no  other  question.  He  was  apparently 
satisfied  with  the  good  sense  of  my  last  answer.  We  re 
turned  to  the  Court,  and  he  reported  in  favor  of  my  appli 
cation  ! 

"  Still  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  my  practising  was  an 
inability  to  procure  an  office,  for  my  desk  room  at  Mr. 
Cozzens's  was  not  suitable  for  my  new  dignity.  This  diffi 
culty  has  been  removed  by  the  offer  of  Mr.  Hughes  (an 
English  '  sympathizer ')  to  allow  me  the  use  of  one  of  his 
two  rooms  for  the  nominal  price  of  $i  a  month  in 
Tryon  Row.  Both  he  and  I  have  learned  since  that  this 
is  considered  an  undesirable  locality  —  a  fact  of  which  we 
were  ignorant,  but  here  I  must  remain  until  I  can  better 
myself.  My  room  is  perfectly  bare  —  a  carpetless  floor, 
plain  uncovered  table,  and  three  chairs  —  one  for  myself, 
and  the  others  for  possible  clients.  Here  I  have  swung  out 
my  modest  shingle  soliciting  the  patronage  of  the  public. 


284  My  Day 

"  I  have  commenced  attending  the  Courts  regularly  and 
have  heard  the  leading  lawyers.  I  am  not  vain,  as  you 
know,  but  —  I  am  not  afraid  of  them  !  But  when,  when 
shall  I  have  a  chance  ?  The  great  difficulty  in  my  way  is 
the  prejudice  against  c  rebels ' ;  and  that  I  am  sorry  to  see 
is  not  diminishing.  I  hope  to  wear  it  away  after  a  while 
if,  meantime,  I  do  not  starve.  It  is  my  last  cast  —  and  I 
am  resolved  to  succeed  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  Several 
New  York  papers  have  spoken  of  my  residence  here  with 
kindness  and  compliment,  but  a  silly  sneer  in  the  Boston 
Post — under  which  I  am  fool  enough  to  suffer  —  cut  me 
to  the  heart,  trifling  and  flippant  as  it  is  :  c  The  Rebel  Pryor 
has  opened  an  office  in  New  York  for  the  practice  of  the 
Law,  but  he  has  not  yet  had  a  rap.' —  (R.  A.  P.). 

u  Look  now  for  uninteresting  letters.  It  will  be  study, 
study,  study,  ever  after  this  !  I  am  writing  now  at  night, 
with  a  languid  head.  My  children  —  my  dear  children  ! 
How  I  love  them  !  God  bless  them  !  " 

He  wrote,  December  28:  — 

"  My  prospects  here  had  brightened  a  little  with  the 
promise  of  a  case  that  would,  in  time,  have  yielded  me  two 
hundred  dollars,  but  a  friendly  priest  (and  he  was  wise)  per 
suaded  the  parties  to  settle  out  of  Court,  and  so  my  hopes 
were  dashed  to  the  ground.  But  I  am  retained,  provisionally, 
as  counsel  for  the  National  Express  Company,  from  which 
I  may  make  something.  My  thoughts  at  Christmas  in  my 
lonely  office  were  with  my  precious  household  at  Cottage 
Farm.  How  I  regretted  my  want  of  money  would  not 
permit  me  to  send  some  holiday  presents,  but  we  must  bear 
these  privations  till  happier  days.  I  longed  to  go  to  you — . 
but  had  no  money  to  defray  the  expense  of  the  trip. 
Dearest  Sara,  let  us  endure  these  trials  with  all  possible 
fortitude.  If  only  you  can  keep  happy,  I  can  bear  my  por 
tion  of  the  burden." 


My  Day  285 

In  February  he  wrote  me  :  — 

"  To-day  I  make  a  reckoning  of  my  earnings  since  my 
residence  in  New  York.  I  was  admitted  to  the  Bar  about 
the  first  of  December.  I  have  been  c  practising,'  then,  about 
two  months  and  a  half.  Well,  my  receipts  for  sundry 
small  services  have  been  $356,  and  I  am  retained  by 
an  express  company.  I  wonder  if  this  looks  as  if  we  are 
'  out  of  the  woods/  Unhappily  I  have  had  to  pay  a  debt 
incurred  when  I  was  in  Fort  Lafayette,  and  for  which  I  had 
provided  money,  but  it  was  embezzled  by  a  dishonest 
quartermaster  at  the  Fort.  Then  the  small  debts  we  owed 
when  we  left  Washington  —  and  which,  you  remember,  the 
Confederate  Government  'confiscated  '  and  for  which  ex 
acted  payment  —  have  simply  waited  for  me  to  get  work, 
and  these  I  must  promptly  pay.  However,  I  am  hopeful. 
God  grant  my  anticipations  may  be  realized. 

"  I  have  some  little  money  owing  to  me  and  some  doubt 
ful  claims,  and  the  Court  and  lawyers  treat  me  with  marked 
courtesy.  I  study  intensely  and  am  as  diligent  as  possible 
in  attention  to  my  duties.  I  mean  at  least  to  deserve 
success  —  which  is  the  surest  way  to  realize  it.  Kiss  the 
chicks  ! 

u  Devotedly, 

"  R.  A.  P. 

ct  P.S.  A  client  interrupts  me !  Don't  be  depressed, 
Sallie  !  A  gleam  of  light  gilds  our  horizon,  which  has  been 
dark,  God  knows,  long  enough.  Next  summer  we  must 
have  our  home,  and  won't  it  be  a  happy  home  ?  God  grant 
it.  God  bless  us  all." 

Alas,  the  next  letter  announced  the  fading  of  the 
"  gleam  of  light  "  into  darkness  and  disappointment. 

ct  I  thought  I  had  two  good  cases  this  week,  but  my 
clients  decided  not  to  sue.  Oh,  how  weary  I  am  of  this 


286  My  Day 

life !  But  there  is  no  escape,  and  I  must  not  despond. 
Stimulate  the  boys  to  diligence  in  their  studies.  Is  Billy 
still  mischievous  ?  And  Lucy  demure  ?  Ah,  Fan  !  apple  of 
my  eye,  how  I  love  you  !  How  I  long  to  see  you  all ! 
The  bright,  the  happy  day  will  soon  come,  I  pray. 
Heaven  only  knows  how  I  pine  for  my  family ;  but  my 
first  duty  is  to  feed  them,  and  until  that  is  accomplished  I 
must  forego  every  personal  gratification. 

"  I  am  convinced  the  chief  obstacle  to  my  success  is 
the  prejudice  against  c  rebels.'  That  is  fearful,  and  I 
feel  its  effects  every  day.  I  was  lately  employed  as  a 
referee  to  report  the  facts  in  an  application  for  the  dis 
charge  of  a  prisoner  by  the  process  of  habeas  corpus. 
When  my  name  as  referee  was  announced,  one  of  the 
counsel  arose  and  protested  to  the  Court  that  he  would 
not  appear  before  a  rebel  whose  hands  were  yet  red  with 
loyal  blood.  Thereupon,  of  course,  I  declined  the  ap 
pointment.  Still,  I  must  toil  on,  nothing  disheartened. 
The  memory  of  the  little  household  at  Cottage  Farm  animates 
and  sustains  me  in  my  troubles.  May  God  bless  and 
prosper  us ! 

u  Devotedly, 

"  R.  A.  P." 

My  dear  aunt  had  now  joined  me  with  my 
little  girls.  One  night  I  was  awakened  by  a  voice 
speaking  to  me  under  my  window.  There  stood  a 
negro  man.  "  Mr.  Green  wants  you  right  away, 
madam,"  he  said.  "  He  thinks  he's  dying,  an*  he 
says  he  is  obliged  to  see  you.  I  brought  a  note." 

The  note  from  a  relative  of  Mr.  Green  confirmed 
the  man's  statement,  adding  :  "  Let  nothing  prevent 
your  coming.  George  will  take  care  of  you." 

My  aunt  felt  a  little  nervous  at  so  strange  and 


My  Day  287 

peremptory  a  summons,  but  at  last  we  decided  I 
must  go.  She  could  see  me  in  the  moonlight  every 
step  of  the  way,  down  the  path,  across  the  little 
bridge  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  and  up  the  ascent 
beyond.  So  I  dressed  hurriedly  and  departed. 

I  found  the  house  in  darkness  and  silence.  The 
lady  who  had  written  me  took  me  into  her  room 
and  whispered  her  story.  Mr.  Green  was  extremely 
ill  and  in  great  distress  because  he  had  made  no  will. 
The  house  was  full  of  his  relatives,  gathered  because 
his  death  was  expected.  He  wished  to  leave  every 
thing  he  possessed  to  his  wife  and  youngest  daughter, 
Nannie.  He  had  provided  for  the  others  —  given 
them  their  portion.  He  could  not  secretly  summon 
a  lawyer  from  town.  He  was  miserably  anxious, 
sleepless,  and  unhappy. 

To-night  he  had  found  himself  alone  with  this 
relative  who  was  nursing  him,  and  drawing  her  down 
to  his  pillow,  had  begged  her  "  Send  for  Mrs.  Pryor 
—  now  and  quick.  She  will  write  for  me/' 

I  knew  him  only  by  sight,  and  I  was,  of  course, 
surprised.  But  I  did  not  hesitate.  I  was  at  once 
introduced  into  his  room,  and  by  the  light  of  a 
solitary  candle  burning  upon  the  floor  in  a  cor 
ner  I  dimly  discerned  the  gray  head  and  closed 
eyes  of  the  sick  man.  He  was  sleeping  peacefully, 
and  we  dared  not  awaken  him.  Pen,  ink,  and 
paper  were  given  me,  and  prone  upon  my  elbows  and 
knees  in  the  dim  corner,  I  wrote  a  will,  repeating 
faithfully  the  words  I  had  received,  beginning : 
"In  the  name  of  Almighty  God  —  Amen  —  I, 
William  Green,"  etc. 


288  My  Day 

We  then  awaited  in  silence  the  waking  of  the  sick 
man.  Very  gently  I  told  him  my  errand,  and  read 
twice  what  I  had  written,  asking  him  again  and 
again,  "  Are  you  sure  you  do  not  wish  to  leave  any 
thing  whatever  to  your  other  children?  "  "  No,  no, 
no ! "  he  answered.  I  put  my  arm  beneath  him, 
raised  him,  and  the  paper  was  laid  on  a  pillow  before 
him.  He  looked  around  helplessly.  His  spec 
tacles  !  We  placed  them,  and  with  the  pen  in 
trembling  fingers  he  signed  his  name,  and  uttered 
the  last  words  he  probably  ever  spoke,  — "  Three 
witnesses  !  "  His  relative  signed,  I  signed,  and  the 
negro  nurse  signed  with  her  mark. 

"Now  I'll  send  you  home,"  said  his  friend,  when 
we  left  the  room.  "  No,"  I  said,  "  I  can  do  nothing 
clandestine.  I  must  stay  and  tell  his  relatives  how 
I  come  to  be  here." 

Very  early  they  all  assembled  and  I  said  :  "  I  was 
sent  for  by  your  father  last  night  to  write  his  will.  If 
it  should  displease  any  one  of  you,  remember  he 
only  used  my  hand.  He  understood  perfectly 
what  he  was  doing." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  all  right,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
said  one.  "  I  have  always  known  this  place  was  to  be 
left  to  me." 

"  I  know  nothing  I  can  reveal,  "  I  assured  her. 

That  day  Mr.  Green  died.  His  will  was  ad 
mitted  to  probate  and  never  contested. 

Early  in  February  old  Abram,  the  faithful  servant 
in  whose  care  my  husband  left  me,  announced  that 
we  had  reached  the  end  of  all  our  resources  at  Cot 
tage  Farm.  Rose,  the  little  cow,  had  died,  the  tur- 


My  Day  289 

nips  and  potatoes  Abram  had  raised  were  all  gone, 
the  two  pigs  he  had  reared  had  fulfilled  their  destiny 
long  ago,  and  the  government  rations  had  ceased. 
He  "could  scuffle  along  himself,  but  'twa'n't  no 
use  to  pertend  "  he  could  "  take  care  of  mistis  an' 
the  chilluns,  not  like  they  ought  to  be  took  care  of." 

"  We  must  not  despair,  Abram,"  I  said.  "  We'll 
feed  the  children,  never  fear !  I  must  plan  some 
thing  to  help." 

"  Plannin'  ain't  no  'count,  mistis,  less'n  you  got 
sump'n  to  work  on.  What  we-all  goin'  to  do  for 
wood  ? " 

"  What  you  have  done  all  along,  I  suppose." 

"  No'm.  Dat's  onpossible.  We  done  burn  up 
Fort  Gregg  an'  Battery  45.  Der  ain'  no  mo'  fortifi 
cations  on  de  place  as  I  knows  of." 

"  Fortifications  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Why,  Abram  ! 
you  surely  haven't  been  burning  the  fortifications  !  " 

"  Hit's  des  like  I  tell  you,  mistis.  De  las'  stick's 
on  yo'  woodpile  now." 

"  Well,  Abram,"  I  said  gravely,  "  if  we  have  de 
stroyed  our  fortifications  —  burned  our  bridges  — 
the  time  has  come  to  change  our  base.  We  will 
move  into  town." 

Of  course,  without  food  or  fuel,  and  without 
Abram,  we  could  not  live  in  the  country.  The 
fields  were  a  desolate  waste,  with  no  fences  to  pro 
tect  a  possible  crop  or  to  keep  cattle  within  bounds. 
Abram  saw  no  hope  from  cultivation  —  nothing  to 
"  work  on."  He  had  been  a  refugee  from  a  lower 
plantation,  and  he  was  now  inclined  to  put  out  his 
children  to  service,  and  return  in  his  old  age  to  his  old 


290  My  Day 

home  and  to  his  old  master,  who  longed  to  welcome 
him.  He  was  a  grand  old  man.  I  doubt  not  he 
has  a  warm  place  in  the  bosom  of  that  other  Abram 
the  faithful,  but  no  whit  more  faithful  than  he. 

The  afternoon  before  our  departure  from  Cottage 
Farm,  the  weather  was  so  deliciously  balmy  that  I 
walked  over  the  garden  and  grounds,  thinking  of 
the  great  drama  that  had  been  enacted  on  this  spot. 
The  spring  comes  early  in  the  lower  counties  of  Vir 
ginia.  Already  the  grass  was  springing,  and  on  the 
trees  around  the  well  which  had  so  often  refreshed 
General  Lee,  tender  young  leaves  were  trembling. 
Spring  had  come  to  touch  all  scars  with  her  gentle 
finger-tips.  Over  all  the  battle-torn  ground,  over 
the  grave  of  the  young  soldier  who  had  lain  so  long 
under  my  window,  over  the  track  ploughed  by  shot 
and  shell,  she  had  spread  a  delicate  bloom  like  a 
smile  on  the  lips  of  the  dead. 

Much  of  my  last  night  at  Cottage  Farm  was  spent 
at  the  window  from  which  I  had  watched  on  that 
anxious  night  of  my  first  home-coming.  The  home 
had  been  polluted,  sacked,  desecrated  —  and  yet  I 
was  leaving  it  with  regret.  Many  a  hard  battle  with 
illness,  with  want,  with  despair,  had  been  fought 
within  those  walls.  It  seemed  like  a  long,  dark 
night  in  which  neither  sun  nor  moon  nor  stars  had 
appeared ;  during  which  we  had  simply  endured, 
watching  ourselves  the  while,  jealous  lest  the  natural 
rebound  of  youthful  hope  and  spirit  should  surprise 
us,  and  dishonor  those  who  had  suffered  and  bled 
and  died  for  our  sakes. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

IN  March  my  husband  wrote  a  letter  of  warm 
congratulation  upon  my  success  in  gathering  all 
our  children  together,  and  sent  me  a  sum  to  be 
used  in  sending  them  to  school.  That  I  might  aid 
my  husband  to  mend  our  fortunes,  I  persuaded 
seven  of  my  neighbors'  children  to  take  music 
lessons  from  me.  The  boys  were  entered  to  Mr. 
Gordon  McCabe — the  accomplished  gentleman  and 
scholar  so  well  known  and  so  popular  in  England 
as  well  as  at  home.  My  daughter  Gordon  entered 
an  excellent  school  of  which  Professor  Davis  was 
principal.  The  older  children  had  been  taught  by 
the  Rev.  William  Hoge,  who  had  been  pastor  of 
the  Brick  Church  on  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York. 
They  were  well  instructed  in  Greek,  Latin,  and 
mathematics,  and  eagerly  embraced  their  new  oppor 
tunities.  Before  we  left  Virginia  Gordon  graduated 
in  her  school,  and  the  boys  took  honors  of  their 
accomplished  preceptor,  —  Theo  winning  the  first 
prize  —  the  Pegram  prize,  ordained  to  commem 
orate  Mr.  McCabe's  colonel,  "who  died  with  all 
his  wounds  in  front."  The  children's  father  longed 
all  the  more  —  were  that  possible  —  for  his  home. 
He  writes  March  15:  — 

"  Beg  Gordon  to  apply  herself  diligently  to  my  books  — 
or  what  is  left  of  them.  She  must  read  Wilson's  'Essay  on 
Burns,'  Macaulay's  essays  —  Jeffrey,  Wilson,  and  Sydney 

291 


292  My  Day 

Smith.  She  must  study  Russell's  '  Modern  Europe/  and 
must  read  Pope,  Cowper,  and  other  poets.  I  wish  her  to  be  the 
most  brilliant  girl  of  the  day.  These  accomplishments  may 
stand  her  in  better  stead  than  others  of  mere  display'. 
McCabe  will  push  the  boys. 

"  I  know  I  have  written  you  despondent  letters,  but  I  do 
not  despair !  I  am  only  depressed  by  my  physical  weak 
ness  and  by  my  very  great  difficulties,  but  here  I  mean  to  stay  ! 
It  is  my  last  cast  in  the  game  of  life,  and  if  I  fail  now,  all 
is  lost.  I  am  writing  again  for  the  News.  I  need  the 
money  to  support  us.  The  Law  is  so  slow  —  so  uncertain 
that  I  almost  despair.  If  I  had  a  little  farm  in  the  country 
and  barely  enough  for  existence,  I  would  be  content,  provided 
I  could  have  my  family  and  the  enjoyment  of  their  society. 
You  can  have  no  idea  how  miserable  is  my  life  here.  It 
is  enough  to  make  me  crazy.  I  can  hardly  endure  it.  I 
do  trust  your  Christian  fortitude  enables  you  to  bear  our 
misfortunes  better  than  I  can.  You  have  the  children! 
Roger  has  written  me  a  sweet  letter,  for  which  I  thank  him. 
I  trust  they  all  care  a  little  for  me  !  Poor  papa,  so  lonely 
and  sad  without  his  home !  Kiss  them  all  for  me.  I  love 
them  more  than  all  the  world.  " 

The  hour  before  the  dawn  is  always,  we  are  told, 
a  dark  hour.  This  was  a  dark  hour  indeed,  but  the 
dawn  was  near.  Alas,  there  were  yet  many  nights 
of  darkness,  many  mornings  of  fitful  dawning,  before 
the  sun  rose  clearly  on  better  days  !  My  husband's 
sensitive  spirit  responded  as  quickly  to  the  humor 
of  a  situation  as  to  pathos  and  tragedy.  Very  soon 
after  the  mournful  letter  I  received  the  following :  — 

"  c  The  Rebel  Pryor '  has  had  'a  rap '  at  last  —  a  rap 
with  no  uncertain  significance.  I  have  had  a  call  from  a 
bona  fide  client ! 


My  Day  293 

"  Quite  unexpectedly  this  morning  a  stalwart  and  evidently 
brusque  person  entered,  and  accosting  me  asked,  '  Is  your 
name  Pryor  ? '  I  had  to  acknowledge  the  damaging  fact ! 
4  Well/  he  said,  '  my  name  is  "  France."  Ben  Wood  has 
sent  me  to  you  to  argue  a  case  I  have  in  Court.  Now  I 
have  as  many  lawsuits  as  any  man  in  the  United  States, 
and  experience  has  taught  me  never  to  retain  a  lawyer 
until  we  have  agreed  upon  all  I  am  to  pay  for  his  services.' 

"  To  this  I  assented,  but  added  that  as  I  did  not  know 
what  his  case  might  be,  I  could  not  indicate  any  terms  of 
employment. 

"  He  replied, '  I  live  in  Baltimore.  I  am  at  the  head  of  all 
the  Lottery  business  in  the  United  States.  My  business  has 
failed,  and  I'm  trying  to  get  discharge  under  your  Two  Thirds 
Act.'  Now  I  had  never  heard  of  the  Two  Thirds  Act,  and 
had  no  notion  what  he  meant,  but  this  fact,  you  may  be 
sure,  I  did  not  communicate  to  my  intending  client.  At 
this  point  I  made  a  bad  break.  I  said,  '  Mr.  France,  you 
know  I  have  been  practising  in  New  York  a  very  short 
time,  and  of  course  I  am  quite  ignorant  of  the  rate  of  charges 
here.'  Instantly  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  would  draw  an 
inference  not  only  of  my  ignorance  of  fees,  but  of  the  law 
itself.  Fortunately  the  reflection  seemed  to  escape  him. 
My  object  was,  of  course,  to  avoid  designating  the  amount 
of-the  fee  myself.  I  wanted  to  ask  him  fifty  dollars,  but 
I  had  a  dreadful  fear  that  the  proposition  would  drive  him 
out  of  the  office,  and  I  would  not  get  even  twenty-five,  — 
which  I  would  gladly  have  accepted.  I  begged  him  to 
name  the  fee,  with  the  assurance  of  whatever  it  might  be 
I  would  accept  it. 

"  He  answered,  c  I  never  prize'  (this  he  pronounced  price) 
cany  man's  labor.'  Still  I  persisted  in  the  endeavor  to 
throw  the  burden  of  the  offer  upon  him.  He  became 
angered,  and  fumed  a  bit,  but  finally  said  :  — 

" l  Little  Owen '  (a  very  able  English  solicitor  who  has  set- 


294  My  Day 

tied  in  New  York  in  the  practice  of  Bankruptcy  and  Insol 
vency  proceedings)  —  'Little  Owen  has  served  all  the  cita 
tions  and  prepared  all  the  other  necessary  papers,  and  all  you 
will  have  to  do  will  be  to  argue  the  question  of  my  discharge 
on  the  return  day  of  the  motion,  three  weeks  hence.  Now 
—  I  will  make  with  you  the  same  agreement  that  I  have 
made  with  Mr.  Owen  —  which  is  five  hundred  dollars 
cash,  and  one  thousand  if  you  procure  my  application.' 

"  With  the  utmost  dignity  and  appearance  of  reluctance 
I  said,  c  Mr.  France,  you  have  my  word  that  I  would  accept 
any  offer  you  might  make,  and  of  course  I  will  agree  to 
this  sum,  however  inadequate  the  compensation  may  be/ 
Going  down  into  his  pockets  he  drew  out  five  hundred  dol 
lars  in  notes,  which  he  gave  me,  and  which  I  am  sending  you 
through  Bob  Mcllwane.  Let  me  know  when  you  receive  it. 
I  mean  to  win  the  thousand  !  Expect  no  more  long  letters  ! 
Between  this  hour  and  the  day  of  argument  I  shall  think 
of,  dream  of,  no  subject  on  earth  but  the  Two  Thirds  Act !  " 

He  argued  the  motion  and  won  it.  The  court 
and  lawyers  treated  him  kindly,  and  the  judge  said, 
"  It  is  a  great  privilege  to  hear  a  good  argument 
from  an  able  lawyer  !  "  He  was  soon  employed  in 
other  cases.  His  letters  now  exhibited  the  most 
hopeful  temper.  "  I  am  overwhelmed,"  he  wrote 
me,  "  with  business  for  the  Southern  Express  Com 
pany.  It  keeps  me  employed  night  and  day,  but  so 
far  has  yielded  me  no  money.  I  hope,  however, 
eventually  to  get  a  fee  that  shall  compensate  me  for 
all  my  labor,  so  I  am  encouraged  to  work  on.  I 
am  sure  of  success  !  I  feel  it  in  me.  Let  us  crowd 
all  sail,  and  not  languish  in  despair.  Did  you  ever 
know  any  one  who  lived  honestly,  worked  hard, 
and  exerted  competent  talent  to  fail  in  any  enterprise 


My  Day  295 

of  life  ?  I  think  we  have  competent  ability  ;  as  for 
the  rest  I  am  certain ;  my  health  is  perfect.  The 
debility  which  so  oppressed  me  is  succeeded  by  per 
fect  health  and  vigor." 

And  all  because  of  the  one-thousand-dollar  fee 
(half  of  which  he  already  owed)  from  Mr.  France, 
the  lottery  dealer  !  Wherever  he  is,  —  and  I  trust 
he  lives  to  read  these  words,  —  I  have  for  him,  now 
and  always,  my  grateful  blessing. 

As  for  the  Express  Company,  —  the  brilliant 
hopes  from  that  quarter  melted  as  does  the  baseless 
fabric  of  a  dream.  The  company  became  hopelessly 
insolvent,  and  for  the  promised  fee  of  three  thou 
sand  dollars  paid  its  hard-worked  counsel  nothing. 

The  winter  of  1866—1867  was  marked  with  fluc 
tuating  hopes  and  disappointments.  The  great  labor 
in  the  interests  of  the  Express  Company  had  yielded 
nothing. 

"The  Express  Company  is  insolvent  beyond  redemption 
[my  husband  wrote  me] .  This  involves  a  loss  to  me 
of $3000 — and  again  delays  indefinitely  the  reunion  with 
my  family  here.  I  am  not  dismayed,  however,  au  contraire  ! 
My  present  impulse  is  to  retrieve  the  loss  by  extraordinary 
exertions.  Work,  work,  work,  is  my  duty  and  destiny  ; 
your  welfare  the  goal  that  beckons  me  on.  I  contemplate 
nothing  else — I  desire  nothing  else.  I  have  been  unan 
imously  elected  a  member  of  the  Manhattan  Club, —  an 
association  for  the  purpose  of  social  enjoyment,  —  but  of 
course  the  expense  is  a  formidable  bar  to  me.  I  sometimes 
attend  as  Mr.  Schell's  guest,  and  I  am  received  with  great 
kindness. 

u  I  have  met  Miss  Augusta  Evans,  the  authoress,  and  I 
am  impressed  with  the  goodness  of  her  heart  and  her  devo- 


296  My  Day 

tion  to  learning.  Her  appearance  is  extremely  pleasing  — 
brown  hair,  the  color  of  yours  —  fair  complexion  —  blue 
eyes  (I  think),  a  fine  brow  and  well-developed  head,  a  fig 
ure  slight  and  graceful,  and  of  your  height.  The  expres 
sion  of  her  countenance  is  serious,  almost  sad,  though  it 
lights  up  with  the  animation  of  talk.  She  is  good,  modest, 
sincere,  pious.  Her  devotion  to  the  '  lost  cause '  is  fa 
natical.  I  think  her  mind  is  irregularly  developed,  but  she 
has  infinite  ambition  and  will  improve. 

"  I  have  also  had  the  great  pleasure  of  seeing  Ristori 
and  of  being  presented  to  her  behind  the  scenes.  Her 
acting  is  a  revelation.  I  could  not  understand  one  word 
of  her  language,  but  her  voice,  her  exquisite  articulation, 
her  expressive  countenance  and  gestures,  told  the  story  elo 
quently  to  my  uninstructed  eyes  and  ears.  How  I  longed 
for  you  !  All  pleasure  must  be,  in  your  absence,  poi 
soned  for  me. 

u  I  have  agreed  to  accept  the  defence  of  an  unhappy 
Episcopal  minister  who  was  arrested  in  an  omnibus  for 
picking  a  lady's  pocket  !  He  was  about  to  leave  the  stage 
when  a  voice  arrested  him  :  '  Stop  that  man  !  He  has  stolen 
my  pocket-book.'  The  pocket-book  was  found  upon  him. 
It  is  by  no  means  impossible  that  the  thief  may  have 
dropped  it  in  my  client's  pocket.  So  although  he  is  mis 
erably  poor  and  can  pay  me  nothing  for  my  trouble,  my 
sympathies  are  enlisted,  and  I  shall  do  my  best  for  him. 
Think  of  it  !  An  Episcopal  minister !  " 

Later :  — 

"  My  wretched  client  is  bailed  at  last.  I  am  more  and 
more  persuaded  of  his  innocence,  but  whether  I  can  make  it 
appear  in  the  trial  is  another  thing.  The  evidence  is 
almost  conclusive  against  him.  The  case  is  so  bad  I  can 
hardly  expect  the  judge  to  discharge  him.  I  can  acquit 
him,  however,  before  a  jury." 


My  Day  297 

Two  months  later  he  wrote  :  — 

u  I  have  refused  to  be  further  connected  in  the  case  of 
the  Episcopal  minister,  for  reasons  which  it  is  not  proper 
I  should  disclose  even  to  you.  He  is  now  committed  to 
the  protecting  care  of  a  lawyer  whose  defence  will  be  in 
sanity  ! 

"Some  of  the  papers  made  haste  to  announce  that  'the 
Rebel  Pryor  has  been  superseded  in  the  criminal  case  of 
by  other  lawyers/  and  it  was  suspected  the  publica 
tion  had  emanated  from  the  prisoner's  friends  to  escape  an 
imaginary  prejudice  against  a  '  Rebel '  advocate.  The 
truth  is,  I  learned  facts  from  my  client  which  made  me 
withdraw  from  the  case  —  facts  in  writing.  I  indignantly 

refused  any  further  connection  with  .  His  friends 

wrote  me  imploring  me  to  stand  by  him,  and  it  is  suspected 
that  when  they  found  me  obstinate,  they  instigated  the 
newspaper  assertion  !  If  so,  they  have  behaved  with  the 
basest  ingratitude,  for  but  for  me  —  services  which  nobody 
but  myself  could  have  rendered  —  he  would  long  ago  have 
been  in  State's  Prison.  I  voluntarily,  and  against  their  re 
monstrance,  renounced  his  case  —  and  for  other  reasons 
than  an  absence  of  reward.  What  my  reasons  are  neither 
you  nor  any  other  person  shall  ever  know.  They  are  in 
writing,  however,  and  in  my  possession.  Of  course  they 
know  I  will  be  silent  unless  I  am  forced  to  act  otherwise." 

The  name  of  this  unhappy  clergyman  is  withheld 
lest  the  innocent  may  suffer.  He  was  accused  of 
being  an  accomplished  thief,  and  of  concealing  in 
his  left  hand  a  small  pair  of  scissors,  which  he 
manipulated  with  such  skill  that  he  cut  into  the 
pockets  (then  worn  in  the  ample  skirts  of  women's 
dresses)  and  cleverly  extracted  purses  and  wallets. 
His  case  was  postponed  from  month  to  month  — 


298  My  Day 

and  finally  he  was  allowed  to  leave  the  city  for  his 
home  at  the  South,  where  he  soon  after  died  —  the 
presumption  being,  I  imagine,  that  he  was  insane. 

The  close  of  the  year  1866  brought  no  new  hopes 
for  the  sorely  distressed  little  family  in  Petersburg. 
By  the  closest  economy,  the  most  diligent  work,  — 
teaching  by  day,  and  sewing  at  night,  —  the  wolf  was 
kept  from  the  door,  and  the  school  bills  of  the  boys 
paid.  Small  sums  came  occasionally  from  the  heart 
sick  worker  in  New  York,  —  heart-sick  because  of 
his  own  impaired  strength  and  health  and  the  loss 
of  many  days  from  pain  and  illness,  and  also  his  keen 
anxieties  about  the  future  of  his  native  state. 

But  at  Christmas  we  were  all  refreshed  by  a  visit 
from  him,  and  improved  the  hour  by  entreating  that 
he  should  abandon  the  plan  of  living  in  New  York. 
We  were  most  averse  to  it.  There  was  small  hope 
of  our  ever  being  able  to  exist  in  that  city  of  costly 
living  and  high  house-rents.  My  husband  forbore 
to  grieve  me,  at  this  sacred  time,  by  opposing  me. 
After  he  returned  to  New  York,  he  wrote  me  :  — 

"NEW  YORK,  Jan.  23d,  1867. 
"  MY  DEAREST, 

"  I  am  sending  you  $200,  with  one  hundred  and  ninety- 
seven  of  which  you  must  take  up  a  note  due  Ashwell,  the 
Northern  sutler.  This  is  what  remains  of  money  due  him 
to  redeem  the  silver  tray  from  which  you  parted  to  pur 
chase  shoes  for  the  prisoners.  Get  a  receipt  in  full  from 
him,  get  the  tray,  and  restore  it  to  its  place  in  the  service. 
To  raise  this  amount  I  am  sorely  pressed.  We  have  had 
a  terribly  dull  season.  I  am  comforted  by  the  good  reports 
of  the  children.  Tell  them  that  I  rejoice  to  hear  of  the 


My  Day  299 

good  progress  in  their  studies,  and  am  particularly  delighted 
with  Theo's  c  perfect '  circular.  My  heart's  desire  is  that 
the  children  be  perfect  in  all  things.  Pray  write  often 
about  them.  Gordon  writes  charmingly,  but  her  letters 
cannot  be  substituted  for  yours.  Indeed  I  love  you  all 
more  and  more  every  day  of  my  life,  and  I  would  sacrifice 
everything  to  be  with  you.  Next  spring  you  must  join  me. 
Do  let  us  make  the  experiment.  By  hard  work  and  strict 
economy  we  may  contrive  to  tide  over  our  difficulties. 
We  must  remember  that  we  are  poor,  and  must  act  accord 
ingly.  We  must  be  content  to  live  humbly.  Anything  is 
more  tolerable  than  the  life  we  now  Jive.  Business  of 
every  kind  is  extremely  dull  here,  but  I  get  some  practice. 
I  argued  on  a  l  Demurrer  '  the  other  day  and  was  greatly 
complimented — the  Chief  Justice  again  remarking;  'it  is 
refreshing  to  hear  a  good  argument  by  a  good  lawyer.' 

"  Devotedly,  R.  A.  P." 

"March  5th,  1867. 

u  MY  DEAREST, —  To-morrow  I  will  send  you  a  certi 
fied  cheque  for  $50.  Would  it  were  more  !  For  a  month 
I  have  been  extremely  pressed  for  money,  but  I  still  hope 
for  easier  times.  My  income  is  very  precarious.  Don't 
imagine  I  have  the  least  idea  of  abandoning  my  experiment 
here.  '  I  mean  to  fight  it  out  on  this  line '  to  the  end  of 
the  struggle.  My  practice  increases  slowly  but  surely, 
and  is  based,  I  believe,  on  a  conviction  of  my  competency. 
Thank  God  what  I  have  accomplished,  though  small,  has 
been  achieved  by  my  own  unaided  exertions,  and  without 
the  least  obligation  to  a  human  being.  I  have  no  patron. 
I  have  never  solicited  business.  My  only  arts  are,  work 
and  devotion  to  study.  These  expedients  may  be  slow  of 
operation,  but  they  are  sure,  and  they  leave  my  dignity 
and  self-respect  uncompromised.  I  am  not  conscious  of 
having  received  a  favor  since  my  residence  in  New  York 


300  My  Day 

—  and  when  the  victory  is  achieved,  I  shall  feel  inexpres 
sible  gratification  in  saying,  with  Coriolanus,  '  Alone  I  did 
it ! '  When  I  speak  of  '  favor '  I  mean  in  the  way  of 
my  profession.  Of  personal  kindness  I  have  been  the 
grateful  recipient  —  though  not  in  many  instances.  Judge 

was    perpetually   obtruding    his    promises    upon    me 

until  at  last  I  told  him  I  needed  no  help  and  would  accept 
no  succor.  Of  course  he  is  offended.  Let  him  be  !  All 
his  professions  of  regard  are  developed  to  be  an  interested 
scheme  to  press  me  into  his  service. 

"  And  now  one  more  word.  You  must  come  to  me. 
I  cannot  live  without  you.  Is  not  poverty  better  than 
such  an  existence  ?  May  we  not  live  here  humbly,  but 
content  in  one  another's  presence  ?  I  do  not  see  that  it  is 
possible  for  me  to  get  employment  in  Virginia.  Let  us 
abate  something  of  our  pride  and  ambition,  and  be  content 
to  live  poorly  and  obscurely.  We  can  at  least  be  sus 
tained  by  our  mutual  love  and  admiration.  What  care 
we  for  the  world  ? 

"Devotedly,  R.  A.  P." 

A  very  dull  season  succeeded  these  brave  words. 
My  poor  general  suffered  greatly  from  neuralgic 
pains  in  his  head ;  no  new  cases  came  into  his  office. 
He  writes :  — 

"  I  cannot  account  for  it  !  Everything  looks  so  much 
less  promising  —  but  really  now  I  must  remain  here.  I 
have  no  money  to  get  away  !  Never  before  have  I  been 
so  sick  at  heart.  I  often  fear  I  can  bear  no  more.  I 
would  come  to  you  —  supremely  wretched  as  I  am  —  but 
for  the  fact  that  I  am  without  money  to  pay  my  expenses. 
In  truth  I  haven't  a  cent  in  the  world  !  Yesterday  I  had 
one  dollar,  but  meeting  a  poor  little  boy  about  Willy's 
size  with  an  arm  just  broken,  I  gave  him  the  last  of  my 


My  Day  301 

fortune.  Why  my  landlord  trusts  me,  I  know  not.  But 
he  seems  to  have  faith  in  me,  and  is  willing  to  wait  until  I 
earn  something." 

This  letter  was  soon  followed  by  another,  —  in 
deed  he  wrote  me  every  day,  —  and  he  hastened  to 
say :  — 

"  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  last  letter,  but  the  truth  is  my 
'business'  is  oppressively  stagnant  —  from  what  particular 
cause,  I  cannot  conjecture.  Whether  it  be  the  result  of 
accident,  or  of  causes  which  portend  an  ultimate  failure,  I 
cannot  pretend  to  affirm.  If  a  breeze  does  not  come  soon, 
I  shall  be  at  a  standstill.  What  then  ?  My  family  is 
dependent  exclusively  upon  my  scant  earnings.  If  they 
fail,  I  see  no  hope  in  another  quarter.  This  is  the  appre 
hension  that  kills  the  soul  within  me.  The  catastrophe 
haunts  me  like  a  spectre,  and  clouds  my  spirit  with  a  per 
petual  gloom.  God  only  knows  what  the  event  will  be  — 
but  I  should  not  talk  in  this  strain.  I  shall  relax  no  effort. 
On  the  contrary,  I  never  worked  as  strenuously  in  my  life. 
God  willing,  my  earnest  efforts  to  subsist  my  darling  family 
may  yet  be  successful.  It  is  for  them  I  toil,  and  richly  do 
they  deserve  every  blessing.  This  thought,  above  all  else, 
encourages  me.  May  God  bless  them  ! 

"  Devotedly,  R.  A.  P. 

"  P.S.  I  see  I  repeated  the  sin  for  which  I  sought  ex 
cuses.  The  present  lull  in  my  practice  I  attribute  to  the 
general  stagnation  of  business.  Mayhap  the  breeze  will 
come  before  long. 

u  An  unwelcome  breeze  of  another  kind  is  now  busy 
near  me.  An  immense  fire  is  raging  in  rather  close  prox 
imity  to  the  'Waverly,'  and  I  have  some  apprehensions 
of  a  move.  The  Winter  Garden  Theatre  and  the  South 
ern  Hotel  are  in  flames.  How  the  boys  would  enjoy  the 


302  My  Day 

spectacle !  I  suppose  there  are  fifty  steam-engines  spout 
ing  their  streams  and  thousands  of  people  looking  on.  To 
day,  for  the  first  time,  we  have  an  indication  of  approach 
ing  spring,  and  as  they  are  painting  my  office,  I  mean  to 
stroll  about  the  city  in  enjoyment  of  the  sunshine." 

He  had  now  lived  in  New  York  a  year  and  a  half 
—  and  had  borne  the  intense  heat  of  summer  in  the 
crowded  district.  Except  for  one  visit  to  Virginia, 
and  an  occasional  Sunday  to  Fordham  to  visit  his 
old  comrade  in  Congress,  Mr.  Haskins,  he  had  not 
left  his  narrow  quarters  for  any  recreation  whatever. 


I 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

N  April  my  husband  exultantly  announced 
that  he  had  "  eight  little  cases "  on  the 
calendar  ;  on  May  14  he  wrote  :  — 

"  I  am  over  head   and  ears   with  work,  preparing  Mrs. 
's  case  for  trial.      It  is  infinitely  troublesome ;   but  if  I 


win,  my  fee  will  be  $2000  —  otherwise  nothing." 

He  did  win !  In  July  he  received  his  fee ! 
Within  two  weeks  I  had  wound  up  all  my  small 
affairs  in  Petersburg,  kissed  "  good-by "  to  my 
tearful  little  band  of  music  scholars,  sent  my  Aunt 
Mary  with  my  Gordon  and  little  Mary  to  "The 
Oaks  "  in  Charlotte  County  to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
summer,  persuaded  my  sable  laundress,  Hannah, 
that  New  York  was  an  earthly  paradise,  and  taken 
passage  thither  with  her  and  five  of  my  little  brood. 

A  hot  morning  in  July  found  us  at  City  Point 
before  sunrise,  waiting  for  the  Saratoga,  one  of  a  bi 
weekly  line  of  two  steam-boats,  now  coming  from 
Richmond  on  its  way  to  New  York.  The  Saratoga 
and  her  consort,  the  Niagara,  had  the  right  of  way 
at  that  time  with  no  competitors,  and  could  take 
their  own  time  without  let  or  hindrance.  They 
travelled  the  path  now  traversed  by  the  many  fine 
ships  of  the  Old  Dominion  Line,  and  travelled  it 
alone  except  for  an  occasional  Clyde  boat  or  two. 

As  we  waited,  our  noisy  little  engine  puffed  away 
303 


3°4  My  Day 

impatiently.  The  conductor  hoped  for  a  possible 
passenger  for  his  return  trip  to  Petersburg,  and  had 
arrived  at  the  terminus  of  his  short  road  too  soon. 

City  Point  —  lately  a  place  of  strategic  importance, 
where  the  great  ships  of  the  Federal  army  had 
anchored,  where  Mr.  Lincoln  had  been  entertained 
by  General  Grant,  where  General  Butler  had  long 
made  his  headquarters  —  was  now  silent  and  deserted. 
Two  years  before  the  last  of  General  Butler's  gun 
boats  had  steamed  away.  Not  a  shade  tree,  not  a 
"shanty,"  remained  to  mark  the  occupation  of 
the  Federal  troops.  An  unsheltered  platform 
afforded  the  only  place  for  a  traveller  to  rest  while 
waiting  for  the  boat,  unless  he  could  content  him 
self  with  the  dust-covered  seats  in  the  forlorn  little 
car  and  the  limited  view  from  the  narrow,  dirty  car 
window.  Out  on  the  platform,  seated  on  his  own 
boxes,  the  traveller  could  see  the  sweep  of  the  noble 
James  River,  broadened  here  into  a  sea  as  it  took 
into  its  bosom  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Appomattox. 
Landward  there  was  little  to  be  seen  except  an 
unbroken  waste  of  dusty  road  and  untilled  field. 

At  a  little  distance  a  thin  line  of  smoke  indicated 
a  small  log  cabin  and  the  presence  of  inhabitants. 
Outside  the  hut  there  was  a  "  patch "  of  corn  and 
cabbages,  and  a  watermelon  vine  sprawled  about, 
searching  for  the  sweet  waters  wherewithal  to  fill 
the  plump  green  melons  it  had  brought  forth.  A 
suspicious  hen  was  leading  her  brood  as  far  from  the 
engine  as  possible,  and  a  pig  in  an  odoriferous  pen 
was  leaping  on  the  sides  of  his  stye  and  clamoring 
for  his  breakfast.  Presently  a  languid  negro  woman 


My  Day  305 

emerged  from  the  cabin,  and  stooping  over  the  cab 
bages,  selected  a  large  leaf,  which  she  proceeded  to 
bind  with  a  strip  of  cloth  around  her  forehead.  She 
sauntered  toward  us  and  remarked  that  it  was 
"  gwine  to  be  a  mighty  hot  day."  She  had  risen 
early,  she  said,  to  see  the  boat  pass.  Her  son  Jim 
was  kitchen  boy  on  the  Saratoga^  and  not  allowed 
to  leave  the  boat,  but  she  could  see  him  and  "  tell 
'im  howdy."  She  "  cert'nly  thought  Sis  Hannah 
lucky  to  git  to  go  Nawth  "  (Hannah  was  rather 
rueful  and  teary,  having  just  parted  from  a  Jim  of 
her  own).  "  She  would  cert'nly  go  Nawth  "  herself 
if  she  wasn't  "  'bleeged  to  stay  at  the  Pint  on  account 
of  the  pig  an'  chickens  an'  things."  She  was  like 
the  two  old  maids  in  Dickens's  funny  story,  who 
lived  in  the  greatest  discomfort  in  a  crowded  quarter 
on  the  Thames,  but  could  not  even  consider  the 
possibility  of  moving  —  which  they  could  well 
afford  to  do  —  because  of  the  trouble  of  moving 
"  the  library,"  a  small  collection  of  books  which  any 
able-bodied  market-woman  could  easily  have  carried 
in  her  basket. 

My  own  movables  were  really  of  less  importance 
than  those  of  my  new  acquaintance.  Hers  represented 
the  entire  furnishing  of  a  home  —  a  home  sufficient 
for  her  needs.  Mine  were  the  melancholy  wreckage 
of  a  home  which  had  been  enriched  with  such 
treasures  as  are  collected  in  a  prosperous  and  happy 
life :  only  what  had  been  saved  by  a  good  neighbor 
and  a  faithful  servant  from  the  sacking  of  our  house 
at  Cottage  Farm  —  a  few  damaged  books,  a  box  of 
sacred  silver,  and  one  trunk,  which  sufficed  for  my 


306  My  Day 

own  garments  and  for  the  slender  wardrobes  of  my 
children.  I  was  on  my  way  to  keep  house  in  New 
York  with  a  service  of  silver  and  a  few  rain-and- 
mud-stained  books  which  had  been  picked  up  on  the 
farm  by  our  good  John. 

My  heart  was  heavier  than  my  boxes,  as  I  waited 
for  the  boat.  All  the  sad  foreboding  letters  my  gen 
eral  had  written  me  rose  up  to  fill  me  with  doubt 
and  alarm.  He  had  rented  a  furnished  house  and 
had  paid  the  first  quarter  of  the  $1800  it  was  to  cost 
us.  That  sum  seemed  to  me  simply  enormous,  but 
he  had  spent  weeks  in  hunting  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  New  York  for  the  humble  little 
home  of  his  imagination.  This  house  was  far  out 
on  an  avenue  in  Brooklyn.  I  was  afraid  of  it ! 
I  was  apprehensive  that  a  very  large  hole  indeed 
had  been  made  in  the  #2000.  Moreover,  my  heart 
was  sick  in  leaving  Virginia  —  dear  old  Virginia,  for 
which  I  cherished  the  inordinate  affection  so  sternly 
forbidden  by  the  Apostle.  Six  years  of  sorrow  and 
disaster  had  borne  fruit.  "Truly,"  I  thought: — 

"All  backward  as  I  cast  my  e'e 

Seems  dark  and  drear  : 
And  forward  though  I  canna*  see 
I  doubt  and  fear." 

And  then  I  had  just  parted  with  my  dear  aunt  and 
my  scarcely  dearer  daughters,  with  old  friends  and 
neighbors,  with  affectionate  servants.  And  I  was 
tired —  tired  unto  death  ! 

But  the  boat,  churning  with  its  great  paddle-wheels 
the  muddy  waters  of  the  James,  was  approaching, 
the  captain  and  an  early  riser  or  two  leaning 


My  Day  307 

over  the  deck  railing.  My  little  boys  ran  gayly  over 
the  gang-plank  as  soon  as  it  was  lowered.  Hannah 
clung  tearfully  to  her  acquaintance  of  an  hour.  The 
gang-plank  was  hauled  in,  the  great  paddle-wheels 
turned,  and  we  were  off,  on  our  way  to  our  new 
home. 

"  Good-by,  Dixie,"  called  out  my  boys. 

"  Not  yet,  young  gentlemen/'  said  the  captain  ; 
"  we  are  still  in  Dixie  waters,  and  will  be  until  we 
reach  the  sea." 

As  we  sat  on  deck,  steaming  down  the  river,  the 
passengers  eagerly  scanned  the  shores  and  recounted 
the  events  of  the  late  war.  The  last  time  I  had 
sailed  down  this  river  each  point  was  interesting 
from  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  associations.  Now 
all  these  were  forgotten  in  its  later  history.  Every 
spot  was  marked  as  the  scene  of  some  triumph  or 
occupation  of  the  Northern  army  —  of  some  disaster 
or  humiliation  of  the  South. 

There  were  few  passengers  —  three  charming 
young  ladies  with  their  mother,  returning  home 
after  a  visit  to  the  Cullen  family  of  Richmond ;  a 
group  of  teachers  going  home  to  New  England  for 
their  vacation ;  a  comfortable  negro  mammy  with 
her  basket,  very  proud  to  repeat  again  and  again  that 
she  was  "just  from  Mobile,  Alabama,"  to  whom 
Hannah  looked  up  with  deference  and  respect ;  and 
half  a  dozen  or  more  tourists  from  New  York  re 
turning  from  an  inspection  of  the  historic  places  in 
and  around  Richmond.  Among  these  last  was  an 
old  acquaintance,  a  Southern  man,  who  at  once 
sought  conversation  with  me.  He  had  lived  in 


308  My  Day 

New  York  before  and  during  the  war.  He  could  not 
conceal  his  amazement  at  the  desperate  venture  my 
general  was  making.  "  Of  all  places,"  he  said, 
"  why,  why  are  you  choosing  a  home  in  New 
York?" 

"Ask  the  withered  leaf,"  I  answered,  "why  it  is 
driven  by  a  winter  wind  to  one  place  rather  than 
another." 

"  But  practically,"  he  replied  somewhat  testily, 
"as  a  matter  of  prudence  and  common  sense  — " 

"  You  think,  then,"  I  interrupted,  "  there  is  small 
hope  for  my  poor  general  in  New  York." 

"  New  York  —  "  he  said  slowly  and  with  emphasis, 
"  New  York,  you  will  find,  has  no  use  for  the  unsuc 
cessful  man" 

This  was  an  anxious  thought  for  me  to  take  to  my 
state-room.  Once  there,  and  my  restless  young 
ones  asleep,  I  realized  the  desperate  venture  we 
were  making.  Nothing  had  ever  been  as  I  wished. 
With  the  war,  its  causes,  its  ends  and  objects,  I  had 
nothing  to  do.  My  part  was  solely  with  the  pov 
erty,  the  heartbreak,  the  losses,  the  exile  from  home. 

An  unbidden  vision,  many  a  time  thrust  from 
me,  now  arose,  insistent.  My  early  home  —  all 
flowers  and  music  and  beauty,  my  opulent  life ;  the 
devotion  of  honored  friends  —  this  was  my  heritage  ! 
Of  this  I  had  been  unjustly  defrauded.  Ah,  well ! 
It  was  an  old  story  —  the  story  of  another  paradise, 
another  yielding  to  sinful  ambition,  another  sword, 
another  parting  with  happiness  and  home  to  en 
counter  difficulty,  poverty,  danger  !  Then,  "  The 
world  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose  a  place 


My  Day  309 

of  rest  —  and  Providence  their  guide."  Aye  !  Provi 
dence  their  Guide!  This,  this  was  the  anchor  of 
their  hope,  and  must  be  mine. 

We  were  awakened  before  dawn  by  a  confusion 
on  deck  —  the  dragging  of  heavy  ropes,  hurried 
feet,  loud  shouts.  Throwing  on  my  wrapper,  I 
ascended,  to  find  my  little  boys  already  on  deck, 
eager  for  adventure.  It  appeared  we  had  met  our 
consort,  the  Niagara,  in  a  crippled  condition,  had 
thrown  her  a  cable,  and  were  now  "put  about"  to 
lead  her  into  port  at  Norfolk.  The  rising  sun 
found  us  slowly  returning  with  the  Niagara  in  tow ; 
but  a  few  miles  from  Norfolk  she  signified  her 
ability  to  go  on  without  us,  and  we  resumed  our  on 
ward  journey  to  New  York. 

Late  in  the  evening  all  eyes  were  turned  toward  land 
— and  presently  the  sky-line  of  New  York  emerged 
from  the  mists.  Very  different  was  it  from  the  sky 
line  of  to-day.  Then  we  saw  only  the  uneven  line 
of  moderate  dwellings  of  unequal  height,  broken 
here  and  there  by  the  upward-pointing  fingers  of  the 
churches.  There  was  no  "  Brooklyn  Bridge  "  span 
ning  the  East  River,  no  Babel-like  towers  of  the 
modern  sky-scraper,  no  great  statue  —  like  a  bronze 
figure  on  a  newel-post  —  of  Liberty  with  her  torch  and 
coronal  of  stars.  (I  never  did  admire  Miss  Liberty. 
I  always  sympathized  with  the  afflicted  sculptor  who 
exclaimed,  as  his  vision  was  smitten  by  the  giantess, 
"  If  this  be  Liberty,  give  me  Death.") 

We  were,  after  much  delay,  "  warped "  into  our 
own  berth,  and  the  "  dear  old  muggy  atmosphere  " 
of  New  York  stormed  my  unwilling  senses  :  atmos- 


310  My  Day 

phere  thickened  and  flavored,  after  a  sweltering  sum 
mer  day,  with  coal  smoke,  street-filth,  and  refuse  of 
decaying  fruit  and  many  cabbages. 

But  all  things  were  forgotten  when  we  descried 
the  slight  figure  of  my  general  on  the  pier !  Very 
thin  and  wan  did  he  look,  sadly  in  need  of  us.  He 
took  us,  a  party  of  eight,  to  a  neighboring  restaurant 
for  dinner;  and  then  we  crossed  the  ferry  and  in  the 
horse-cars,  through  miles  and  miles  of  lighted  streets, 
we  reached  our  little  home,  far  away  on  the  outer 
edge  of  Brooklyn. 

The  morning  after  our  arrival  we  rose  early  to 
look  about  us.  We  were  in  an  unsubstantial  new 
house,  narrow  as  a  ladder  and  filled  with  unattractive 
furniture.  Hannah  agreed  to  take  care  of  the  chil 
dren,  and  I  set  forth  to  find  a  market.  After  walk 
ing  several  blocks  in  different  directions  I  concluded 
there  was  no  market  within  reach,  and  I  began  to 
doubt  my  ability  to  provide  a  dinner.  A  fat,  stolid- 
looking  policeman  strolled  near  me  as  I  ventured  :  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Officer,  where  I  can  find 
an  honest  butcher  ?  " 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know  one,"  he  replied. 

I  considered.  We  had  brought  biscuit  and 
crackers.  I  must  find  some  milk. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  then,  where  I  can  get  pure 
milk  ? " 

My  policeman  whistled !  I  don't  know  what 
there  was  in  my  appearance  that  tempted  him  to 
"  guy "  me,  but  with  a  droll  twinkle  in  his  eye  he 
said :  — 

"  Now  look  'ere,  lady  !     If  you  was  to  go  on  a 


My  Day  311 

little  further,  you'd  get  to  Flatbush  ;  and  then  you'd 
see  the  mizzable  critters  standing  up  to  their  knees  in 
stagnant  water,  with  their  hoofs  rotting  off.  Sure  and 
you  wouldn't  want  any  of  their  milk  !  " 

The  neighborhood  was  sparsely  settled ;  a  num 
ber  of  vacant  lots  surrounded  our  house,  which 
was  one  of  a  row  all  alike.  I  reflected  that  the 
people  living  in  those  houses  must  occasionally  eat ! 
And  so  I  walked  on  and  on  until  I  reached  a  cross 
street  on  which  cars  were  running.  There  I  found 
a  stand  of  cakes  and  apples,  before  which  a  woman 
sat  knitting.  "  My  good  woman,"  I  said  amiably, 
"are  your  cakes  plain?" 

She  dropped  her  work  and  glared  at  me.  "  Clane^ 
is  it !  You  think  I  put  dirt  in  'em  ?  "  Her  manner 
was  so  threatening  that  I  turned  and  fled.  Her  voice 
pursued  me  —  "  An'the  blarney  of  her ; "  (mimicking), 
" c  Me  good  ooman ' !  c  Me  good  ooman,'  indade  !  — 
the  loikes  of  her  !  " 

What  my  mistake  had  been  I  could  not  then  imag 
ine.  I  now  know  that  I  had,  unconsciously,  a  manner 
unwarranted  by  my  appearance.  Turning  up  a  new 
thoroughfare,  I  encountered  a  grocery  store,  with 
vegetables  and  fruit  at  the  door.  There  I  learned 
with  terror  the  cost  of  provisions  in  this  part  of  the 
world.  At  home  I  could  buy  a  chicken  for  25  cents 
-  here  I  must  give  30  cents  for  a  pound  of  him  ! 
Whortleberries  (the  grocer  called  them  "blue 
berries")  could  be  bought  at  home  for  a  few  pennies 
a  quart.  Here  20  cents  was  demanded  for  a  shallow 
box  of  withered  specimens.  Fifty  cents  in  Peters 
burg  would  buy  a  large  beefsteak.  I  purchased  an 


312  My  Day 

infant  steak  for  $1.50,  and  with  this  I  turned  my 
steps  homeward. 

A  small  shanty,  a  squatter's  hut,  was  in  the  corner 
of  the  vacant  lot  behind  our  house.  Two  or  three 
children  were  playing  in  the  dirt  at  the  door,  and  a 
goat  eating  paper  beside  them.  Ah  !  there  was  a 
cow  tethered  to  a  tree  not  far  away  ! 

A  kindly-faced  Irish  woman  answered  my  knock. 
I  frankly  told  her  my  dilemma  and  she  sympathized 
at  once.  Her  name  was  Mrs.  Foley,  and  she  would 
milk  her  cow  in  my  sight  morning  and  evening,  just 
behind  my  house,  so  I  could  be  sure  of  the  purity  of 
the  milk.  "  An*  sure  in  a  wake  ye'll  see  the  darlint 
fatten,"  she  assured  me.  And  a  great  comfort  was 
old  Mrs.  Foley  all  the  time  I  lived  near  her. 

I  must  confess  the  days  passed  wearily  enough 
through  July  and  into  August.  The  heat  was  ex 
treme  and  of  a  depressing  quality.  We  were  so  far 
away  from  my  general's  office  that  his  long  journey 
morning  and  evening,  accompanied  by  Theo,  was 
exhausting  to  both  of  them.  I  taught  Mary  and 
Roger,  but  the  children  were  very  listless  and  un 
happy.  They  found  no  pleasure  in  walking  up  and 
down  the  uninteresting  sidewalk  of  a  hot,  dreary 
street.  Loneliness,  enhanced  by  the  far-off  hum  of 
the  city,  the  mournful  fog-horns  and  whistles  on  the 
river,  and  the  not  less  depressing  sounds  from  the 
incessant  pianos  around  us,  oppressed  us  all.  We 
seemed  to  find  nothing  to  take  hold  of,  nothing  to 
live  for. 

I  one  day  found  Hannah  raining  tears  into  her 
tubs  as  she  washed  our  linen,  and  having  no  mind 


My  Day  313 

to  have  my  handkerchiefs  anointed  with  other  tears 
than  my  own,  I  essayed  to  comfort  her.  Finally  she 
confessed  she  had  never  seen  New  York.  She  didn't 
know  if  it  was  "  thar" — for  she'd  "  never  seen  sight 
of  it."  Moreover,  Jim  was  writing  to  ask  her  what 
she  thought  of  Central  Park  and  she  "  cert'nly  was 
'shamed  to  tell  Jim  she  had  heerd  tell  of  it  but  never 
set  foot  in  it." 

I  had  an  inspiration.  "Hannah,"  I  said,  "we 
have  a  steak  for  dinner.  You  can  broil  a  steak  and 
boil  some  potatoes  and  rice  in  a  few  minutes.  Come, 
leave  the  tubs,  run  up  and  dress,  and  help  me  with 
the  children.  We  will  all  go  to  Central  Park,  spend 
a  pleasant  afternoon,  and  get  back  in  time  for  dinner." 

We  were  a  large  party,  and  could  not  get  off, 
having  taken  a  hasty  luncheon,  until  nearly  two 
o'clock.  But  the  summer  afternoons  were  long  and 
we  had  no  misgivings.  I  had  no  idea  of  the  distance, 
nor  did  I  know  of  any  route  to  the  Park,  save  the 
horse-car  and  ferry  on  our  side,  a  walk  up  Wall 
Street  to  Broadway,  and  the  lumbering  Broadway 
omnibus  with  two  horses  for  the  rest  of  the  way. 
At  four  o'clock  we  arrived  in  sight  of  Central  Park  ! 
A  black  thunder-cloud  came  up,  and  we  alighted 
from  our  stage  in  a  drenching  rain.  Of  course  we 
must  return  without  seeing  the  Park,  but  to  our  joy 
we  found  a  line  of  horse-cars  waiting  at  the  gate  for 
return  passengers,  and  dripping  wet,  we  took  shelter 
in  one  of  these  and  were  soon  on  our  way  home 
ward.  At  the  end  of  our  journey  there  was  Theo, 
with  umbrellas — now  useless,  for  more  thoroughly 
drenched  we  could  not  well  have  been,  —  and  his 


3 14  My  Day 

father! — Well,  his  father  was  almost  in  a  state  of 
nervous  prostration !  Hannah's  spirits  thereafter 
were  worse  than  ever.  She  lost  all  interest  in  work, 
and  spent  much  of  her  time  leaning  over  her  area 
gate  and  gazing  into  the  street.  Once  I  asked  her 
what  she  was  looking  at. 

"  Dat  po-white-folks  creeter  hollerin'  c  soap  fat/  ' 
she  answered.     "  Lawd  !  I  wonder  if  dat  ole  creeter 
got  wife !  " 

We  were  both  mystified  by  the  street  cries.  One 
man  we  found  was  not  crying :  "  Frank  Potter/' 
"  Frank  Potter,"  but  "  rags,  bottles."  But  another 
cry,  "  Pi-apy  —  Pi-ap"  much  perplexed  us.  Finally 
Hannah  brought  in  a  very  hard,  knotty,  green  apple, 
the  "  pi-ap  "  man  had  given  her  as  a  sample  of  his 
wares.  "  Dar  is  his  cpi-aps/  "  she  explained.  Light 
broke  upon  my  benighted  intelligence.  "  Why, 
Hannah,"  I  said,  "he  means  pie-apples!  "  "Good 
Gawd  A'mighty  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Is  dat  de  bes' 
dey  can  do  ! " 

In  August  she  entreated  to  be  sent  home.  In  vain 
I  too  entreated.  I  felt  that  this  was  the  last  straw  ! 
What  could  I  do  in  this  strange  city  with  no  faithful 
person  to  leave  occasionally  with  the  children  ?  I 
offered  anything  —  everything  —  larger  liberty,  more 
wages. 

Hannah  said  solemnly,  "  You  knows  I  likes  you 
and  de  chillern  —  but  I  can't  stay.  I'se  feared  to 
stay !  I  can't  live  in  no  place  where  folks  plays 
de  piano  all  day  Sunday.  Fse  boun'  to  git  out. 
Somp'n  gwine  to  happen  in  dis  Gawd-forsaken 
place."  Then  after  a  thoughtful  pause  she  added 


My  Day  315 

pensively:  " De  watermillions  is  ripe  at  home!  I 
done  wrote  to  Jim  to  git  me  one  —  a  big  one  —  and 
put  it  in  a  tub  o'  cole  water  erginst  I  come/* 

With  Hannah  I  lost  the  last  link  that  bound  me 
to  the  old  Virginia  of  my  childhood,  my  last  ac 
quaintance  with  the  kindly  old-time  negro  and  the 
dialect  so  expressive,  so  characteristic. 

I  filled  her  place  with  an  Irish  woman  who  served 
me  faithfully  for  many  years,  and  was  wont  to  com 
miserate  me  for  all  I  had  suffered  "with  that  nayger 
in  the  house."  Her  scorn  of  the  negro  knew  no 
bounds.  She  never  knew  how  deeply  I  mourned 
my  loss. 

The  pain  of  parting  from  friends,  the  doubt  of  the 
future,  the  dreams  of  my  early  home,  filled  my  heart 
with  anguish  ;  but  I  had  but  one  consuming  desire 
—  to  sustain  and  strengthen  the  dear  one  who  had 
fought  so  many  battles,  and  was  now  confronted 
with  the  stern  struggle  for  existence.  To  be  cheer 
ful  for  his  sake,  to  press  strong  hands  over  my  own 
breaking  heart  —  this  was  the  task  I  set  for  myself. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

NOVEMBER  found  us  at  the  end  of  a  long, 
dull  season.  No  business  had  come  into 
the  little  law-office  —  the  centre  of  all  our 
hopes.  We  had  made  no  friends  among  our  neigh 
bors,  to  whom,  of  course,  we  had  made  no  advances. 
The  silence  was  broken,  however,  one  evening  by  a 
visit  from  a  well-groomed,  handsome  young  fellow, 
who,  with  many  apologies,  requested  an  interview 
with  General  Pryor. 

"  So  the  reporters  have  found  us  out,"  said  my 
general,  but  he  was  mistaken.  His  visitor  had  "  ven 
tured  to  call  for  advice  —  not  legal  advice  exactly  "  — 
but  he  wished  to  know  the  General's  opinion  upon  a 
matter  of  infinite  importance  to  himself  and  to  his  wife. 
"  Doubtless  we  had  heard  his  wife  singing,"  —  we 
had  —  "  she  was  a  fine  musician,  but  one  could  not 
live  on  music." 

To  this  my  husband  readily  assented.  He  had 
a  deeply  rooted  aversion  to  the  piano,  which  he  be 
lieved  to  have  been  an  invention  of  the  Evil  One  in 
a  moment  of  unusual  malignity. 

"  The  question  I  wish  to  ask,  General,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  "  is  this,  Would  you  advise  me  to  go 
into  politics,  law,  or  the  coffee  business  ? " 

"The  coffee  business,  most  decidedly,"  said  my 
husband ;  "  I  have  tried  the  other  two  and  have  a 
poor  opinion  of  both  of  them." 


My  Day  317 

The  interviewer  left,  perfectly  satisfied  to  enter 
the  coffee  business.  Through  the  open  window 
we  could  hear  the  words  of  a  song  from  the  "  fine 
musician  "  —  presenting,  as  it  were,  a  solution  of  the 
problem  :  — 

"It  is  time  for  the  mower  to  whet  his  scythe 
For  'tis  five  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

We  never  learned  to  what  extent  politics  and  the 
profession  of  the  law  had  suffered,  nor  how  much 
the  coffee  business  had  gained.  One  thing  was 
certain :  the  suggestion  of  the  fair  singer,  so  freely 
given  to  the  breeze,  was  not  needed  by  me ;  for  my 
scythe  was  always  in  active  operation  before  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  When  "  the  sun  came 
peeping  in  at  morn/'  he  always  found  me  up  and 
dressed  and  ready  for  his  greeting. 

Then  —  as  for  many  times  before  and  after  —  our 
case  seemed  too  desperate  for  rest.  Often  after 
our  slender  breakfast  not  an  atom  of  food  was  left 
in  the  larder.  A  mouse  would  in  vain  have  sought 
our  hospitality.  The  corner  grocer  had  once  trusted 
us  for  provisions  as  far  as  twenty-five  dollars'  worth, 
but  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  front  hall  and  there  re 
mained  until  he  was  paid !  The  bitter  experience 
was  never  repeated.  But  as  surely  as  the  ravens 
were  sent  to  feed  Elijah  did  the  Power  that  esteems 
us  of  more  worth  than  many  sparrows  —  many 
ravens  —  send  us  something  every  day;  some  small 
fee  for  a  legal  service  or  for  an  article  written  for  the 
News.  My  general  would  bring  this  treasure 
home,  Anne  would  be  sent  on  a  flying  errand  for 


318  My  Day 

"a  bit  of  a  shteak"  —  and  Mr.  Micawber  never 
gathered  around  his  suddenly  acquired  chops  a  more 
hopeful  brood  than  our  own. 

Once  Mr.  John  R.  Thompson,  editor  of  the  Lit 
erary  Messenger  and  later  of  the  New  York  Evening 
Post,  fresh  from  England,  where  he  had  hobnobbed 
with  Carlyle,  Tennyson,  and  Dickens,  came  to 
dinner.  I  had  little  to  offer  him  except  a  biscuit 
and  a  glass  of  ale.  He  did  not  mind.  He  had 
known  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  and  many  another  pov 
erty-stricken  genius  who  had  enriched  the  pages  of  the 
Literary  Messenger  for  sums  too  pitiful  to  mention. 
The  straits  of  scholarly  men  were  familiar  to  him 
and  detracted  nothing  from  his  interest  in  the  men 
themselves.  To  be  sure  they  were  more  interest 
ing  if  they  walked  the  midnight  streets  in  default  of 
other  shelter  than  the  stars  (and  there  might  be 
worse)  like  Johnson  or  Savage  or  Goldsmith  or 
others  of  the  Grub-street  fraternity ;  —  still,  the 
victims  of  a  revolution  were  quite  miserable  enough 
to  satisfy  the  imagination.  Misery  is,  after  all, 
more  picturesque  than  happiness  and  ease. 

John  Mitchell,  the  Irish  patriot,  was  another 
visitor,  —  railing  against  the  English  government 
and  declaring  he  would  yet  live  to  "  strike  the 
crutches  from  the  old  hag,  on  the  British  throne  "  ; 
talk  to  which  no  stretch  of  politeness  could  in 
duce  me  to  listen.  I  had  been  taught  to  love 
the  good,  young  queen,  of  whom  the  English 
philanthropist,  Joseph  John  Gurney,  had  told  me 
when  I,  a  child  of  eight  years,  had  sat  upon  his 
knee  in  my  uncle's  house  in  Virginia. 


My  Day  319 

An  agreeable  old  German  gentleman,  whom  we 
had  known  in  Washington,  also  came  from  New 
York  to  see  us.  "  Oh,  Pryor,  Pryor,"  he  exclaimed, 
how  could  you  bring  Madam  to  this  mel-#0'-choly 
place?" 

The  place  would  have  been  paradise  to  us  if  only 
God  would  give  us  bread  for  our  children.  We 
had  come  to  fear  we  would  never  have  more  —  per 
haps  not  this.  The  society  —  exclusive! y  of  "  Adul- 
lamites "  like  ourselves- — was  not  conducive  to 
hope  and  cheerfulness.  Very  few  Southerners  were 
at  that  time  in  New  York.  We  were  pioneers. 
Truly  they  were  all  —  like  the  followers  of  David 
—  "  in  distress,  in  debt,  and  discontented." 

Just  at  this  anxious  time  I  received  a  letter  from 
my  dear  Aunt  Mary.  She  felt  that  she  was  incur 
ably  ill.  While  she  had  strength,  she  would  come, 
place  Gordon  safely  in  her  father's  house,  and  then 
die  in  my  arms  !  In  a  few  days  she  would  arrive 
in  New  York  and  I  must  meet  her  at  the  boat  with 
provision  for  having  her  borne  to  a  carriage. 

This  was  overwhelming  news.  How  could  I 
provide  comforts  for  my  more  than  mother  ?  There 
was  but  one  thing  left  us.  We  must  pledge  our 
service  of  silver  —  a  testimonial  service  with  a 
noble  inscription,  presented,  we  remember,  to  my 
general  by  the  Democratic  party  of  Virginia  after 
he  had  fought  a  good  fight  against  the  peril  threat 
ened  by  the  "Know  Nothing"  party.  This  silver 
was  very  precious.  Sell  it  we  could  not,  but  per 
haps  we  could  borrow  a  few  hundred  dollars,  giving 
it  as  security. 


320  My  Day 

The  idea  of  a  pawn-broker  never  occurred  to  us. 
It  seems  to  me  now  that  I  had  then  never  heard 
of  a  pawn-broker ! 

But  not  a  great  many  years  before  this,  as  we 
remember,  when  I  was  fifteen  years  old,  this  dear 
aunt  who  had  reared  me  had  suddenly  discovered 
that  the  child  was  a  woman.  She  must  see  the 
world.  She  must  travel  to  Niagara  Falls,  visit  all 
the  great  cities  and  see  their  museums,  libraries, 
theatres,  what  not;  she  must  have  hats  from  Mme. 
Viglini  in  New  York,  gowns  from  Mrs.  McComas 
in  Baltimore,  —  and  jewels  from  Tiffany's.  From 
the  latter  my  adoptive  father  had  bought  me  lovely 
turquoise,  rubies,  white  topaz  necklaces,  and  jewelled 
combs.  Surely,  I  now  thought,  this  will  be  the 
place  where  I  may  be  remembered  and  find  some 
kindness.  Accordingly  I  repaired  thither  and  made 
my  plea.  I  was  told,  of  course,  that  the  firm  must 
see  the  silver.  Naturally  none  of  the  gentlemen 
who  talked  with  me  could  remember  ever  having 
heard  of  me  before.  I  must  send  the  silver  and  then 
return  for  my  answer.  Accordingly  I  boxed  it,  sent 
it,  and  on  the  third  day  presented  myself —  a  very 
wistful  figure  —  at  the  silver  counter.  A  tall  young 
man,  whose  name  I  learned  afterwards,  said  to  me 
with  some  hauteur,  "  Madam,  we  have  weighed  your 
silver,  and  will  allow  you  #540  for  it." 

"  I  will  redeem  it  soon,  I  hope,"  I  answered. 

"  Redeem  it !  Madam,  this  is  not  a  pawnshop  ! 
We  buy  silver." 

u  Then  will  I  not  get  it  back  again  ? " 

"  Certainly  not !  " 


My  Day  321 

I  hesitated.  My  need  was  sore  —  but  oh,  to 
part  forever  with  this  sacred  inheritance  for  my 
children  ! 

"  You  had  as  well  realize,"  said  my  tall  young  man, 
—  and  he  looked  to  me  colossal,  —  "  that  you 
will  never  have  occasion  to  use  silver  again.  You 
had  as  well  let  it  go  to  the  crucible  first  as  last. 
You  will,  of  course,  be  obliged  to  live  humbly 
hereafter,  and  —  " 

But  I  had  risen  in  great  wrath  against  him. 
Flushed  and  indignant  I  retorted,  "You  mistake, 
sir  !  I  shall  use  my  silver  again  !  I  shall  not  live 
humbly  always,"  and  left  the  store. 

But  once  again  on  the  sidewalk  with  the  sharp 
November  wind  blowing  in  my  face  I  remembered  my 
dear  invalid.  I  remembered  my  cold  house,  in 
which  there  had  been  provided  no  furnace,  no  stove, 
nothing  but  open  grates  for  heating.  I  knew  then 
as  well  as  I  know  now  that  the  firm  was  in  no 
wise  responsible  for  the  discourteous  language  of  its 
representative.  I  had  only  happened  to  encounter 
a  fanatic,  a  hater  of  the  South,  —  and  it  was  not  the 
first  time.  Possibly  should  I  return  and  seek  an 
other  one  of  the  corps  of  clerks  I  might  fare  better. 
But  no  !  I  would  perish  first. 

Just  at  this  moment  I  recollected  that  my  dear  old 
chaplain-father  had  said,  in  bidding  me  good-by, 
"  If  you  ever  need  a  friend,  you  may  advise  with 
my  friend  in  New  York — Henry  Corning." 

This  sent  me  to  a  directory  in  a  near-by  drug 
store,  where  I  found  "Corning"  and  an  address  to 
a  bank  on  Broadway.  I  repaired  thither,  and  was 


322  My  Day 

directed  to  a  private  room,  where  a  venerable  gentle 
man  rose  to  greet  me  and  offer  me  a  seat.  I  was 
very  tired  and  miserable,  but  I  told  my  errand  as 
best  I  could. 

"  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  your  father," 
said  the  gentleman,  looking  at  me  kindly  through 
his  spectacles  (and  down  went  the  mercury  of  all 
my  courage),  "  but,"  he  added,  "  I  think  my  nephew, 
Henry  Corning,  is  your  man.  I  have  heard  htm 
speak  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Pry  or.  I  will  give  you  his 
address.  My  name  is  Jasper  Corning." 

I  am  sure  there  were  tears  in  my  eyes  when  he 
looked  up,  as  he  handed  me  a  slip  of  paper,  for  he 
added  kindly:  "  I  feel  certain  Henry  will  not  fail 
you.  Don't  despair  !  God  is  good." 

Another  omnibus  ride  brought  my  heavy  heart 
to  the  door  of  Mr.  Henry  Corning,  in  Madison 
Avenue.  He  was  sitting  at  his  desk  on  the  ground 
floor  —  and  without  one  word  of  response  to  my 
simply  told  story  turned  to  his  desk  and  wrote 
his  check  for  $500 ! 

"I  will  send  you  the  silver  immediately,"  I  said 
—  but  he  only  bowed,  and  with  "  My  regards  to 
your  father,"  he  allowed  me  to  take  leave. 

I  called  at  Tiffany's  on  my  return,  gave  an  order 
at  the  desk,  paid  the  cartage,  and  ordered  the  silver 
to  be  addressed  to  Mr.  Corning. 

When  the  time  came,  a  year  afterwards,  for  me 
to  redeem  it,  I  saw  Mr.  Corning  again,  thanked  him 
for  his  kindness,  and  said,  "  I  am  now  ready  to 
redeem  the  silver."  He  looked  at  me  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye  and  asked,  "  What  silver  ?  " 


My  Day  323 

"  Surely,"  I  exclaimed  in  great  alarm,  "  surely  you 
received  it." 

"  Oh,  well, "  he  replied,  "  if  you  say  so,  I  sup 
pose  it  is  all  right.  I  have  never  seen  your  silver. 
There's  a  box  there  in  the  corner.  The  box  has 
not  been  opened  since  you  sent  it." 

My  dear  aunt  had  her  wish.  She  died  in  my 
house.  She  was  ill  a  long  time.  Through  the  kind 
ness  of  a  Southern  friend  I  was  introduced  to  Dr. 
Rosman,  who  attended  her  with  devotion  and  skill. 
He  was  the  gentlest  and  kindest  of  physicians.  He 
admired  and  appreciated  her,  and  truly  she  was  a 
grande  dame  in  every  respect;  courteous,  dignified, 
and  beautiful,  even  at  sixty  years  of  age. 

"  When  faith  and  Hope,  which  parting  from  her  never 
Had  ripened  her  just  soul  to  dwell  with  God, 
Her  alms  and  deeds  and  all  her  great  endeavor 
Were  never  lost,  nor  in  the  grave  were  trod.'* 

She  lives,  I  humbly  trust,  in  two  children  of  her 
adoption,  who  owe  to  her  all  they  are  or  ever  hope 
to  be. 

The  struggle,  the  wounds,  the  defeats  we  suffer 
at  each  other's  hands  may  all  be  classed  under  the 
head  of  battles,  —  battles  where  the  ultimate  defeat 
or  victory  is  in  our  own  hands,  —  in  the  harm  or 
good  done  to  our  souls.  The  fight  in  the  field 
ended,  hostility,  hatred,  bitterness,  should  also  end ; 
but,  alas,  the  battles  of  prejudice,  resentment  for 
unforgiven  injuries,  may  continue  for  years.  Some 
of  these  my  story  compels  me  to  record,  but  as  old 
Thomas  Fuller  quaintly  says :  "  These  battles  are 


324  My  Day 

here  inserted,  not  with  any  intent  (God  knows  my 
heart)  to  perpetuate  the  odious  remembrance  of  mu 
tual  wrongs,  that  heart-burnings  may  remain  when 
house-burnings  have  ceased,  but  only  to  raise  our 
gratitude  to  God  that  so  much  strife  should  have 
raged  in  the  bosom  of  so  fair  a  land,  and  yet  so  few 


scars  remain." 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

WHILE  these  sad  days  and  nights  of  heavi 
ness  hung  over  us,  we  were  painfully  con 
scious  that  some  of  our  own  people  mis 
understood  my  husband's  position  in  New  York. 
Our  having  left  Virginia  was  resented  at  the  time, 
and  now  General  Pryor's  avowed  belief  that  the 
salvation  of  the  South  could  only  be  assured  by 
acquiescence  in  the  inevitable,  and  in  the  full  exer 
cise  of  justice  to  the  negro,  was  most  unacceptable. 
This  was  before  the  right  of  suffrage  had  been  con 
ceded  to  the  negro ;  in  the  interval  between  the  fall 
of  the  Confederacy  and  the  Reconstruction  period, — 
an  interval  during  which  the  South  was  in  a  condi 
tion  of  resentment  and  agitation  which  portended  a 
possible  renewal  of  the  conflict,  —  one  of  General 
Pryor's  friends  wrote  him  of  the  feeling  against  him 
and  the  cause. 

The  following  answer  to  this  letter  was  sent  by 
my  husband  to  the  Richmond  Whig^  and  puts  him 
on  record  before  the  world  at  a  time  when  such  opin 
ions  were  decidedly  adverse  to  the  feelings  of  many 
of  his  own  personal  friends.  It  required  courage 
to  write  this  letter.  Since  that  time  the  prophetic 
words  have  been  fully  justified  by  subsequent  events, 
and  the  unwelcome  sentiments  are  to-day  fully  in 
dorsed  by  the  South.  They  are  pregnant  with  wis- 

325 


326  My  Day 

dom,  perhaps  as  much  needed  now  as  at  the  time 
they  were  uttered. 

"NEW  YORK,  October  5,  1867. 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR  :  I  was  apprised  before  the  receipt  of 
your  letter  that  a  certain  paper  of  Virginia  had  stigma 
tized  me  as  a  c  Radical '  and  had  otherwise  imputed  to  me 
sentiments  inimical  to  the  interests  of  the  South.  But  the 
silly  story  I  disdained  to  contradict,  while  it  rested  on  the 
authority  of  the  irresponsible  person  who  propagated  it. 
Since  you  say  that  my  silence  is  construed  into  a  sort  of 
acquiescence  in  the  reproach,  I  empower  you  to  repel  the 
accusation  with  the  utmost  energy  of  indignant  denial.  I 
have  not  the  vanity  to  imagine  that  my  opinions  are  of  the 
least  consequence  to  any  one ;  but,  because  they  have  been 
brought  into  controversy,  and  have  been  the  occasion  of 
subjecting  me  to  some  unmerited  animadversion,  I  will  tell 
you  very  frankly  and  freely  in  what  relation  I  stand  to  the 
politics  of  the  day. 

"  In  the  first  place,  then,  neither  with  politics  nor  parties 
have  I  the  least  concern  or  connection.  On  the  downfall 
of  the  Confederacy  I  renounced  forever  every  political  as 
piration,  and  resolved  henceforth  to  address  myself  to  the 
care  of  my  family  and  the  pursuit  of  my  profession.  But 
for  all  that  I  have  not  repudiated  the  obligations  of  good 
citizenship.  When  I  renewed  my  oath  of  allegiance  to  the 
Union,  I  did  so  in  good  faith  and  without  reservation ;  and 
as  I  understand  that  oath,  it  not  only  restrains  me  from  acts 
of  positive  hostility  to  the  government,  but  pledges  me  to 
do  my  utmost  for  its  welfare  and  stability.  Hence,  while 
I  am  more  immediately  concerned  to  see  the  South  restored 
to  its  former  prosperity,  I  am  anxious  that  the  whole  coun 
try,  and  all  classes,  may  be  reunited  on  the  basis  of  common 
interest  and  fraternal  regard.  And  this  object,  it  appears 
to  me,  can  only  be  attained  by  conceding  to  all  classes  the 


My  Day  327 

unrestricted  rights  guaranteed  them  by  the  laws  and  by  oblit 
erating  as  speedily  and  as  entirely  as  possible  the  distinc 
tions  which  have  separated  the  North  and  the  South  into 
hostile  sections. 

"  With  this  conviction,  while  I  pretend  to  no  part  in 
politics,  I  have  not  hesitated,  in  private  discourse,  to  advise 
my  friends  in  the  South  frankly  to  'accept  the  situation'; 
to  adjust  their  ideas  to  the  altered  state  of  affairs;  to  rec 
ognize  and  respect  the  rights  of  the  colored  race;  to  cul 
tivate  relations  of  confidence  and  good-will  toward  the 
people  of  the  North  ;  to  abstain  from  the  profitless  agita 
tions  of  political  debate  ;  and  to  employ  their  energies  in 
the  far  more  exigent  and  useful  work  of  material  reparation 
and  development.  Striving  out  of  regard  to  the  South  to 
inculcate  that  lesson  of  prudent  conduct,  I  have  urged  such 
arguments  as  these :  That  the  negro  is,  in  no  sense, 
responsible  for  the  calamities  we  endure ;  that  towards  us 
he  has  ever  conducted  himself  with  kindness  and  subordi 
nation;  that  he  is  entitled  to  our  compassion,  and  to  the 
assistance  of  our  superior  intelligence  in  the  effort  to  attain 
a  higher  state  of  moral  and  intellectual  development ;  that 
to  assume  he  was  placed  on  this  theatre  as  a  reproach  to 
humanity  and  a  stumbling-block  to  the  progress  of  civiliza 
tion  would  be  to  impeach  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of 
Providence ;  that,  considering  the  comparative  numbers  of 
the  two  races  in  the  South,  it  would  be  the  merest  mad 
ness  to  provoke  a  collision  of  caste ;  in  a  word,  that  it  is 
absolutely  essential  to  the  peace,  repose,  and  prosperity  of 
the  South  that  the  emancipated  class  should  be  undisturbed 
in  the  enjoyment  of  their  rights  under  the  law,  and  should 
be  enlightened  to  understand  the  duties  and  interests  of 
social  order  and  well-being.  But  it  has  appeared  to  me 
that  the  chief  obstacle  to  a  complete  and  cordial  reunion 
between  the  North  and  the  South  is  found  in  the  suspicion 
and  resentment  with  which  the  people  of  these  sections 


328  My  Day 

regard  each  other.  Hence,  while  on  the  one  hand  assuring 
the  Northern  people  of  the  good  faith  with  which  the  South 
resumes  its  obligations  in  the  Union,  I  have  thought  it  not 
amiss,  on  the  other,  to  protest  to  my  Southern  friends  that 
the  mass  of  the  Northern  community  are  animated  by  far 
more  just  and  liberal  sentiments  toward  us  than  we  are  apt 
to  suspect. 

"  And  thus,  leaving  to  others  the  ostensible  part  in  the 
work  of  reconstruction,  and  abstaining  studiously  from  all 
political  connection  and  activity,  I  have  hoped  in  some 
measure,  and  in  a  quiet  way,  to  repair  the  evil  I  contributed 
to  bring  upon  the  South  by  availing  myself  of  every  ap 
propriate  private  opportunity  to  suggest  these  counsels  of 
moderation  and  magnanimity.  Passion,  to  which  in  truth 
we  had  abundant  provocation,  precipitated  us  into  seces 
sion  ;  reason  must  conduct  us  back  into  the  path  of  peace 
and  prosperity. 

"  Hard  it  may  be  to  purge  our  hearts  of  the  resentments 
and  prejudices  engendered  by  civil  war ;  but  until  our 
minds  be  enlightened  by  a  philosophic  comprehension  of  the 
exigencies  of  our  situation,  we  shall  never  recover  the  repose 
after  which  the  wearied  spirit  of  the  South  so  eagerly  pants. 

"  At  whatever  risk  of  personal  obloquy,  and  at  whatever 
sacrifice  of  personal  interest,  —  and  you  know  it  involves 
both  obloquy  and  sacrifice  to  talk  as  I  do,  —  I  am  resolved 
to  employ  all  the  energy  and  intellect  I  may  command  in 
the  incessant  endeavor  to  promote  peace  and  good-will 
among  the  people  of  the  lately  belligerent  states.  What 
the  country  needs,  what  in  a  most  especial  manner  the 
South  needs,  is  repose  ;  freedom  from  the  throes  of  political 
agitation,  and  leisure  to  recruit  its  exhausted  energies. 
The  experience  of  the  past  six  years  should  have  impressed 
on  the  mind  of  the  American  nation  this  most  salutary 
lesson,  —  a  lesson  sooner  or  later  learnt  by  every  nation  in 
the  development  of  its  own  history,  —  that  civil  war  is  the 


My  Day  329 

sum  and  consummation  of  all  human  woe.  Protesting 
solemnly  the  integrity  of  motive  by  which  I  was  then 
actuated,  yet  I  never  recall  the  names  of  the  noble  men 
who  fell  in  our  conflict ;  I  never  look  abroad  upon  our 
wasted  fields  and  desolated  homes ;  I  never  contemplate 
the  all-embracing  ruin  in  which  we  are  involved,  the  sad 
eclipse  of  our  liberties  and  the  sinister  aspect  of  the  future, 
without  inwardly  resolving  to  dedicate  all  1  possess  of 
ability  for  the  public  service  to  the  task  of  averting  another 
such  catastrophe,  and  to  that  end  of  cultivating  a  spirit  of 
forbearance  and  good  feeling  among  all  classes  and  all 
sections  of  the  country. 

u  These,  my  dear  sir,  are  the  opinions,  very  briefly  and 
dogmatically  delivered,  which  I  entertain  touching  the 
actual  condition  of  the  Southern  states,  and  the  policy 
proper  for  them  to  pursue  in  the  present  juncture.  They 
are  the  result  of  anxious  and  conscientious  reflection,  of 
much  observation  of  the  popular  temper  of  the  North,  and 
of  extreme  and  unabated  solicitude  for  the  welfare  of  the 
community  to  which  I  am  attached  by  the  strongest  ties  of 
filial  devotion.  With  the  utmost  sincerity  of  conviction, 
I  believe  that,  by  a  system  of  conduct  in  conformity  to 
these  suggestions,  the  Southern  people  may  achieve  a  pros 
perity  and  happiness  equal  to  any  they  ever  enjoyed  ;  while 
on  the  contrary,  I  am  as  firmly  persuaded  that,  by  a  vain 
and  impatient  resistance  to  an  order  of  things  they  cannot 
change,  and  to  a  destiny  they  cannot  escape,  they  will 
infinitely  aggravate  the  miseries  of  their  present  condition, 
and  besides,  bring  down  upon  themselves  calamities  appall 
ing  to  contemplate. 

"  I  am  not  acquainted  with  the  classification  of  parties, 
but  if  these  opinions   make   me  a  'Radical,'  then   I  am  a 
'  Radical '  ;   for  they  are  deliberately  the  opinions  of 
u  Very  truly  yours, 

"  ROGER  A.  PRYOR." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

EARLY  in  the  spring  of  1868  we  removed 
to  Brooklyn  Heights  near  the  Ferry,  much 
nearer  my  husband's  office  in  Liberty  Street. 
New  York  had  not  then  stretched  an  arm  across 
East  River  and  taken  into  its  bosom  Brooklyn  — 
already  the  third  city  in  the  Union.  The  two  cities, 
now  one  in  name,  were  practically  one  in  interest  as 
early  as  1867.  A  great  multitude  of  the  dwellers 
of  Brooklyn  crossed  the  ferry  every  morning  on 
their  way  to  their  daily  work  in  New  York.  Brooklyn 
was  a  huge,  overgrown  village ;  a  city  of  churches,  a 
city  of  homes,  and  of  children  innumerable.  Every 
year  in  May  a  mighty  army  —  thousands  and  thou 
sands  —  of  these  children  paraded  the  streets  under 
banners  from  their  respective  Sunday-schools,  —  a 
unique  spectacle  well  worth  a  pilgrimage  thither, 
provided  one  could  content  himself  with  a  precari 
ous  footing  on  a  crowded  sidewalk ;  for  these 
children  had  the  "  right  of  way  "  —  and  knowing 
their  right,  dared  maintain  it. 

In  1867  the  streets  were  so  deserted — was  not 
everybody  in  New  York  for  the  day  ?  —  that  little 
children  adopted  them  as  a  perfectly  safe  play 
ground.  There  were  no  elevated  railroads,  no  trol 
ley  cars,  no  automobiles,  no  bicycles,  no  electric  lights, 
no  telephones. 

Our  move  was  signalized   by  a  complication  of 

33° 


My  Day  331 

difficulties.  Four  of  my  younger  children  found 
this  an  altogether  suitable  time  to  indulge  in  measles. 
Hasty  visits  to  a  near-by  auction  room  resulted  in  a 
few  needful  articles  of  furniture  which  were  lent  to 
us  —  for  we  could  not  purchase.  The  auctioneer 
was  to  own  them,  and  reclaim  them  if  not  paid  for 
in  a  certain  time.  A  small  room  was  shelved  for 
the  books  that  had  survived  the  sacking  of  our 
house,  and  to  our  great  satisfaction  we  found  that 
the  much-used  books — books  of  reference  —  had 
proven  too  bulky  or  too  shabby  to  be  stolen. 
These  and  other  well-worn,  well-read  books  became 
the  nucleus  of  a  large  library,  and  hold  to-day  in 
their  tattered  bindings  places  of  honor  denied 
newer  lights  of  more  creditable  appearance.  We 
were  not  aware  when  we  moved  to  Brooklyn 
Heights  that  we  had  descended  into  the  very  centre 
of  the  wealthiest  society  of  the  city.  Had  we 
known  this,  it  would  have  signified  nothing  to  us. 
Our  extreme  poverty  forbade  any  expectation  of 
indulgence  in  social  life,  even  had  we  felt  we  had  the 
smallest  right  to  recognition.  We  had  never  known 
anything  about  the  social  ambition  of  which  in  later 
years  we  hear  so  much  —  still  less  did  we  now 
regard  it.  We  "  asked  our  fellow-man  for  leave  to 
toil,"  and  asked  nothing  more. 

We  soon  discovered  that  the  people  around  us 
lived  in  affluent  ease  and  elegance — but  that  was 
not  our  affair !  We  had  no  place  in  their  world, 
nor  did  we  desire  it.  To  conceal  our  true  condition 
was  our  instinctive  impulse,  and  to  that  end  we 
shunned  notice.  Sometimes  a  great  wave  of  deso- 


332 

lation  and  loneliness  —  a  longing  inexpressible  for 
companionship  —  would  possess  me.  At  this  time 
there  was  a  bridge  over  Broadway  below  Cortlandt 
Street.  I  sometimes,  at  seasons  of  great  depression, 
accompanied  my  husband  to  his  office,  and  would 
ascend  the  steps  to  this  bridge  and  look  up  and 
down  the  restless  sea  of  passing  crowds.  Such  a 
sickening  sense  of  loneliness  would  come  over  me,  I 
would  feel  that  my  heart  was  breaking.  All  seemed 
so  desolate,  so  hopeless,  for  us  in  this  great  unknown 
world.  We  knew  ourselves  not  only  strangers  but 
aliens,  outcasts. 

Dear  little  Willy  came  to  me  one  day  and  advised 
me  to  change  his  terrier's  name,  "  Rebel,"  —  a  name 
he  had  borne  by  reason  of  his  own  disposition,  and 
not  at  all  in  honor  of  the  cc  lost  cause."  "  The  boys 
will  stone  him,"  said  Willy;  "  I  am  going  to  call  him 
f  Prince  '  in  the  street  and  c  Rebel '  at  home."  On 
another  day  his  younger  sisters  were  decoyed  into 
the  garden  of  a  neighbor,  and  there  informed  by  the 
children  of  the  house  that  we  would  not  be  allowed 
to  live  in  the  street  —  that  we  were  "Rebels,  and 
slave-drivers,  and  awful  people !  "  These  painful 
incidents  were  of  everyday  occurrence.  "  Mamma 
told  me,"  said  one  of  the  little  ones,  "  that  God  loves 
us.  Will  everybody  else  hate  us  ?  "  Before  very 
long,  however,  the  little  rebels  made  friends  and 
were  forgiven  all  their  enormities. 

The  good  people  of  Brooklyn  at  that  time  were 
taking  up  their  cobblestones  and  laying  a  wooden 
pavement  on  Pierpont  Street,  and  fascinating  blocks 
of  wood  were  piled  at  intervals  in  the  street.  Of 


My  Day  333 

course,  the  boys  immediately  built  of  them  a  village 
of  tiny  houses,  and  one  day  a  committee  of  bright- 
eyed  fellows  —  Tom  and  Charley  Nichols  and  Dr. 
Schenck's  boys  —  waited  on  me  with  a  request  that 
my  little  girls  be  permitted  to  "  come  out  and  keep 
house  "  for  them.  The  little  girls,  they  added  gal 
lantly,  would  be  allowed  to  choose  the  boys  !  That 
was  not  difficult.  The  small  housekeepers  walked 
off  with  Tom  and  Charley.  "Say,"  said  one  of  the 
proud  owners  of  real  estate,  with  a  pristine  recogni 
tion  of  woman's  place  in  the  household,  "  will  your 
cook  give  you  some  potatoes  and  apples  ?  We've 
got  a  splendid  fire  around  the  corner/' 

"  Sure,  an  I'll  not  lave  you  do  it,"  said  Anne  out 
of  the  basement  window.  "  Is  it  burnin'  down  the 
place  ye'll  be  afther  doin'  ?  "  —  but  a  "  Please,  Anne, 
dear,"  from  the  smallest  housekeeper  settled  the 
matter.  A  fire  in  the  street  would  be  a  strange 
spectacle  in  the  Borough  of  Brooklyn  to-day. 

A  family  of  healthy  children  well  governed  can 
not  be  unhappy,  even  in  the  most  depressing  circum 
stances.  My  own  little  brood  positively  refused  to 
be  miserable.  They  had  literally  nothing  that  must 
be  acquired  with  money,  but  their  own  ingenuity 
supplied  all  deficiencies.  In  the  vacant  space  in  the 
rear  of  our  house  there  was  a  cherry  tree  which  never 
fruited,  but  bore  a  wealth  of  green  leaves  and  blos 
soms.  There  the  children  elected  to  establish  a 
menagerie.  They  soon  stocked  it  from  the  "  estray  " 
animals  in  the  street.  They  were  "  Rebel,"  the  ter 
rier;  "Vixen,"  the  dachshund;  "  Tearful  Tommy," 
the  cat ;  "  Desdemona,"  a  white  rabbit ;  and  "  Othello," 


334  My  Day 

her  black  husband,  purchased  from  a  dealer ;  and 
"  Fleetwing,"  the  pigeon,  which  had  trustfully 
entered  one  of  Roger's  traps.  As  there  were 
no  stockades,  no  cages,  Fleetwing  was  tethered 
to  the  cherry  tree,  and  as  cord  might  wound  her 
slender  leg,  a  broad  string  of  muslin  was  provided 
for  her  comfort. 

One  day  I  heard  lamentation  and  excited  barking 
in  the  menagerie.  Fleetwing  had  vindicated  her 
right  to  her  name,  and  was  calmly  sailing  in  the  blue 
ether,  like  a  kite  with  a  very  long  tail  —  her  muslin 
fetter  trailing  behind  her.  We  hoped  she  would 
return,  but  she  never  did.  Othello  and  Desdemona 
were  very  interesting.  They  always  came,  like 
children,  to  the  table  with  the  dessert,  hopping 
around  on  the  cloth  from  corner  to  corner  for 
bits  of  celery ;  but  when  the  fires  were  kindled, 
Desdemona  breathed  coal  gas  from  the  register, 
keeled  over,  and  expired.  Othello's  mourning  coat 
expressed  suitable  sorrow  and  respect,  but  very 
soon  he  too  experimented  with  the  register  and  fol 
lowed  his  helpmate. 

The  time  came  (with  these  healthy  children  to 
feed)  when,  like  Mrs.  Cadwalader,  I  had  to  get  my 
coals  by  stratagem  and  pray  to  heaven  for  my  salad 
oil  —  with  this  difference,  that  my  prayer  was  for 
daily  bread,  and  that  alone.  Long  and  painfully 
did  I  ponder  the  dreadful  problem  —  how  to  keep 
my  family  alive  without  driving  the  dear  head  of 
the  house  to  desperation.  Study,  work,  unremitting 
study  and  work  from  early  morning  until  late  at 
night  was  his  daily  portion.  Not  until  the  last  ex- 


My  Day  335 

pedient  had  failed  should  he  know  aught  of  my 
household  anxieties. 

At  last  I  resolved  to  go  to  a  dignified  old  gentle 
man  I  had  observed  behind  the  desk  at  a  neighbor 
ing  grocery  and  tell  him  the  truth.  But  I  remembered 
my  New  York  experience  with  the  silver.  So  be  it ! 
I  had  borne  rebuff  more  than  once  —  I  could  bear 
it  again. 

I  told  Mr.  Champney  —  for  this  was  the  name 
of  the  old  gentleman  —  that  I  was  the  wife  of  Gen 
eral  Pryor,  that  we  had  come  North  to  live,  that  my 
husband's  profession  was  not  yielding  enough  for 
our  support,  nor  had  we  any  immediate  ground  upon 
which  to  build  hope  for  better  fortune;  that  I  did 
hope,  however,  to  pay  for  provisions  for  my  family  — 
sometime,  not  soon,  but  certainly  if  we  lived ;  and 
that  certainly,  without  food,  we  should  not  live  ! 

He  wished  to  know  if  I  was  the  mother  of  the 
children  he  had  seen  in  his  store.  I  answered  in 
the  affirmative,  and  with  no  further  parley  he  drew 
forth  a  little  yellow  pass-book  and  handed  it  to  me. 
"  Use  this  freely,  madam,"  he  said ;  "  I  shall  never 
ask  you  for  a  penny !  You  will  pay  me.  General 
Pryor  is  bound  to  succeed."  He  kept  his  word. 
His  German  porter,  Fred,  came  to  me  every  morn 
ing  for  my  frugal  orders,  and  gave  me  every  possible 
attention.  At  every  day  of  reckoning  demanded  by 
myself,  my  creditor  politely  remarked,  there  was  "  no 
occasion  for  hurry  "  !  His  name,  "  S.  T.  Champney," 
was,  thenceforward,  with  my  children, "  the  St."  — 
and  as  such  remains  in  my  memory. 

The  city  of  Brooklyn  had  grown  almost  as  rapidly 


336  My  Day 

as  the  Western  cities  —  Chicago,  Seattle,  and  others, 
and  a  great  number  of  poor  people  were  crowding 
into  it,  seeking  homes.  Perpetually  recurring  in 
stances  of  distress  and  homelessness  appealed  to  the 
good  women  of  Brooklyn  Heights  —  Mrs.  Bulkley, 
Mrs.  Packer,  Mrs.  Alanson  Trask,  Mrs.  Eaton,  wife 
of  a  professor  of  the  Packer  Institute,  Mrs.  Rosman, 
Mrs.  Craig,  and  others,  and  they  finally  resolved  to 
found  a  home  for  friendless  women  and  children.  They 
rented  a  small  frame  building  on  one  of  the  upper 
streets,  and  in  a  few  months  the  house  was  crowded. 
Mrs.  Eaton,  early  sent  by  heaven  to  be  my  good 
angel,  had  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  relieve  my 
loneliness  and  isolation,  and  she  procured  for  me  an 
invitation  to  join  the  society  of  women.  I  soon  be 
came  interested,  and  spent  part  of  every  day  with 
the  wretched  beneficiaries  of  the  charity.  Finally 
our  small  house  was  unwisely  crowded,  and  the  chil 
dren  became  ill.  Mrs.  Packer  took  one  of  the  poor 
little  babies  in  a  dying  condition  to  her  own  home, 
and  nursed  it  with  the  utmost  tenderness.  I  gave 
shelter  to  one  of  the  women,  and  others  were  taken 
by  the  different  members  of  the  society  until  we 
could  command  healthy  quarters  for  them.  We 
resolved  to  purchase  a  large  house,  and  entered  with 
great  zeal  upon  our  work.  It  was  my  good  fortune 
to  discover  the  present  Home  on  Concord  Street, 
the  fine  old  Bache  mansion  about  to  be  sold  for  a 
beer-garden.  I  was  requested  to  draw  up  a  petition 
to  the  legislature  for  an  appropriation,  which  I  did 
in  the  most  forceful  language  I  could  command. 
Mrs.  Packer  went  to  Albany  with  it,  and  $10,000 


My  Day  337 

was  immediately  granted  us.  Each  of  us  (we 
were  only  fifteen),  armed  with  a  little  collector's 
book,  undertook  to  canvass  the  town.  We  needed 
$20,000  more  to  buy  our  home. 

I  went  forth  with  a  heavy  heart  —  for  I  was  the 
only  one  who  had  not  headed  her  subscription 
with  $500.  I  collected  a  few  pitiful  sums  only. 
Nobody  would  listen  to  me  —  nobody  knew  me! 
I  bore  it  as  long  as  I  could,  and  one  evening  I  an 
nounced  to  my  astounded  general  that  I  intended 
to  give  a  concert.  He  informed  me  in  strenuous 
English  that  he  considered  me  a  lunatic. 

However,  I  went  to  work.  I  engaged  a  profes 
sional  reader,  who  agreed  to  give  his  services ; 
persuaded  a  German  music  teacher  to  lend  me  her 
pupils;  and  then  looked  around  for  a  "star."  In 
vestigation  resulted  in  my  learning  that  Madame 
Anna  Bishop  was  living  in  New  York.  Once  a 
very  famous  prima  donna,  she  was  now  "  shelved,'' 
although  her  voice  was  still  good.  She  had  grown 
stout,  and  could  no  longer  create  a  sensation  in 
"The  Dashing  Young  Sergeant"  that  "marched 
away  "  so  gallantly  fifteen  years  before. 

I  hunted  up  Madame  Bishop.  She  received  my 
proposition  graciously.  Would  she  give  an  evening 
for  the  poor  friendless  women  ?  "  Give,  my  dear  lady ! 
I  give  nothing.'  Am  I  not  a  friendless  woman  my 
self!  But  I'll  come  for  $100,  and  bring  my  accom 
panist.  He  shall  give  his  evening.  But  I  never 
sing  for  nothing." 

I  engaged  madame  —  and  then  I  was  a  busy 
woman  indeed.  I  hired  a  hall  and  two  pianos,  wrote 


338  My  Day 

programmes  and  advertisements  and  had  rose-colored 
cards  painted,  "  Soiree,  Musical  and  Literary."  I 
discovered  a  florist  near  my  hall,  and  persuaded  him 
to  lend  me  all  his  plants,  —  I  wrote  invitations  to 
my  ushers  and  presented  each  one  with  a  crystal 
heart  for  a  badge,  —  and  then  I  went  home,  on  the 
great  evening,  tired  to  death,  and  perfectly  sure  it 
would  end  in  failure.  My  general,  fully  of  the 
same  opinion,  tried  to  comfort  me  by  saying  that  I 
would  know  better  next  time.  He  went  early  to 
the  hall,  and  when  I  arrived  he  was  pacing  the  street 
in  front  of  the  door.  "  The  place  is  crammed  full," 
he  announced  ;  "  there  is  hardly  standing  room." 

It  wanted  but  eight  minutes  to  the  hour  announced 
for  commencing,  and  Madame  Bishop  had  not  ar 
rived.  Mrs.  Gamp's  fiddle-string  illustration  would 
have  again  been  a  feeble  expression  of  mine.  My 
heart  almost  failed  me.  But  at  last  the  expected  car 
riage  arrived,  —  madame,  her  maid,  and  her  accom 
panist.  To  my  exclamation  of  relief,  she  threw  back 
her  head  and  laughed  heartily:  "Oh,  you  amateurs  ! 
Now,  you  just  go  and  get  a  seat  and  enjoy  the  music. 
We'll  go  on  by  the  programme  all  right." 

Advance  sale  of  tickets  had  yielded  $100.  This 
I  handed  madame  in  an  envelope.  All  went  well. 
She  was  very  good  indeed  —  very  spirited.  The 
dashing  young  sergeant  marched  away  with  all  the 
fire  of  earlier  days.  Everybody  was  pleased.  When 
I  thanked  madame,  she  slipped  into  my  hand  her 
own  donation  —  $50.  The  next  day  I  entered  #500 
upon  my  collection  book  and,  thus  vindicated,  I  was 
able  to  face  my  colleagues. 


My  Day  339 

A  great  and  useful  chanty  is  this  Home  for 
friendless  women  and  children  in  Brooklyn.  And 
noble  were  the  women  I  learned  to  know  and  love 
who  worked  with  me  there.  They  made  me  their 
corresponding  secretary,  and  liked  everything  I  did 
for  them. 

Some  women  formerly  of  high  position  in  the 
South  found  temporary  refuge  in  this  Home.  The 
world  would  be  surprised  if  I  should  give  their 
names  !  In  the  depth  of  winter  I  once  found  a 
woman  bearing  one  of  Virginia's  oldest  names.  She 
was  sitting  upon  a  box  beside  a  fireless  stove, 
warming  her  baby  in  her  bosom.  Her  husband 
had  gone  out  to  hunt  for  work !  She  had  no  fire, 
no  furniture,  no  food!  Another,  belonging  to  a 
proud  South  Carolina  family,  I  found  in  an  attic  in 
New  York.  She  had  had  no  food  for  two  days  ! 
These,  and  more,  I  was  enabled  by  the  lovely 
women  of  Brooklyn  to  relieve,  delicately  and  per 
manently.  Better,  truer,  more  cultivated  women  I 
have  nowhere  known.  Of  the  extent  of  my  own 
anxieties  and  privations  they  never  knew.  Some 
thing  within  me  proudly  forbade  me  to  complain. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Eaton  alone  knew  the  true 
condition  of  my  own  family.  She  lives  to  bear 
testimony  to  the  truth  of  the  strange  story  I  am 
telling  —  the  story  of  a  Southern  general  and  his 
wife,  who  showed  smiling,  brave  faces  to  the  world, 
and  suffered  for  ten  years  the  pangs  of  extreme 
poverty  in  their  home,  working  all  the  time  to  the 
utmost  limit  of  human  endurance.  Not  one 
moment's  recreation  did  we  allow  ourselves  —  our 


340  My  Day 

"  destiny  was  work,  work,  work  "  —  and  patiently 
we  fulfilled  it.  Hard  study  filled  my  husband's 
every  waking  hour,  and  few  were  his  hours  of  sleep. 
Excessive  use  of  his  eyes  night  and  day  so  injured 
them  that  at  one  time  he  found  reading  impossible. 
Gordon  read  his  law  aloud  to  him  for  many  weeks. 
I  once  copied  a  book  of  law  forms  for  him  as  we  had 
no  money  to  buy  the  book  —  the  hardest  work  I 
have  ever  done  !  It  was  my  custom  to  retire  at  night 
with  my  family  and,  after  all  were  quietly  sleeping,  to 
rise  and  with  my  work-basket  creep  down  to  the 
library,  light  a  lamp,  and  sew  until  two  or  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  There  were  seven  chil 
dren.  All  must  be  clothed.  I  literally  made  every 
garment  they  wore,  even  their  wraps  in  winter. 
Through  the  kindness  of  Professor  Eaton  arrange 
ments  were  made  that  enabled  my  little  girls  to 
attend  the  Packer  Institute,  founded  by  the  most 
gracious  and  beautiful  of  women,  Mrs.  Harriet 
Packer.  When  they  went  forth  in  the  morning  to 
their  school,  they  all  presented  a  fresh,  well-groomed 
appearance  —  the  result  of  the  midnight  lamp  and 
work-basket ! 

I  remember  but  one  occasion  when  any  member  of 
the  family  indulged  in  outside  amusements.  Just 
across  the  river  were  the  brilliant  theatres  and  opera- 
houses  of  the  great  metropolis.  Herein  Brooklyn 
were  plays,  concerts,  balls,  evening  parties.  The 
children  for  five  or  six  years  after  our  coming  North 
never  supposed  these  things  possible  for  them.  I 
cannot  say  the  fate  of  Tantalus  was  ours.  True, 
the  rivers  of  delight  were  around  us,  but  we  never 


My  Day  341 

"bent  to  drink"  —  never  gave  the  "refluent  waters" 
an  opportunity  to  shrink  from  our  lips.  We  simply 
ignored  them.  But  Gordon  and  Roger  had  one 
great  pleasure  in  1868.  It  would  be  hard  to  make 
this  generation  understand  the  emotions  with  which 
they  saw  and  heard  Dickens.  His  books  had  for 
a  time  made  the  very  atmosphere  of  their  lives  ! 
They  talked  Dickensese  to  each  other,  and  fitted 
his  characters  into  the  situations  of  their  own  lives. 
Now  they  were  to  look  upon  the  man  himself.  Of 
this  experience  my  daughter  writes  me  :  — 

"  I  remember  as  I  awaited  his  appearance  how  my  heart 
beat.  I  doubt  whether  the  recrudescence  of  Shakespeare 
would  move  me  as  much  now.  At  the  appointed  hour  he 
ascended  the  little  platform  of  Plymouth  Church  with  a 
rapid  gait,  almost  running  up  the  few  steps,  as  I  remember; 
but  truly  my  heart  was  thumping  so,  and  there  was  such 
a  mist  of  agitation  before  my  eyes,  that  I  did  not  at  once 
clearly  discern  the  great  magician.  When  my  brain  cleared 
with  a  jerk  and  I  could  make  myself  believe  that  Dickens 
was  really  before  me,  what  did  I  see  ?  A  very  garish  per 
son  with  a  velvet-faced  coat  and  a  vast  double  watch  chain  — 
all,  as  well  as  his  rather  heavy-nosed  unspiritual  face  per 
fectly  presented  in  the  photograph  of  the  time.  He  had  an 
alert,  businesslike  way  with  him,  no  magnetism,  as  I  recol 
lect.  But  his  reading  impressed  me  then  as  now,  as  per 
fection  of  elocution  —  natural,  spontaneous,  as  if  he  himself 
enjoyed  every  word  of  it  and  had  never  done  it  before.  He 
read  the  trial  scene  from  Pickwick  inimitably.  I  think  I 
have  since  seen  the  criticism  that  he  did  not  give  us  the 
Sam  Weller  of  our  imagination,  but  certainly  it  did  not  so 
impress  me  then.  I  was  absolutely  satisfied.  He  followed 
Pickwick  with  Dr.  Marigold,  for  which  I  cared  much  less. 


342  My  Day 

Dickens's  pathos,  even  in  my  days  of  thraldom,  almost  al 
ways  struck  me  as  mawkish.  Somehow,  in  looking  at  the 
man,  it  was  hard  to  believe  in  his  sentiment  —  though  I 
still  think  much  of  it  sincere.  But  truly,  in  appearance,  he 
is  what  is  now  called  c  a  bounder.'  I  never  read  Forster's 
life  of  him :  I  know  him  only  through  his  own  books,  but 
my  impression  of  him  from  his  appearance  is  that  he  was 
not  exactly  a  gentleman.  Yet  I  forgot  everything  except 
delight  in  the  reading  —  after  my  initial  shock  of  the  velvet 
coat,  the  ponderous  watch  chains,  the  countenance  to  match. 
And  to  this  day  one  of  my  most  cherished  memories  is  that 
I  saw  and  heard  Dickens." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

I  SOON  found  that  two  of  my  children  were 
old  enough  to  pine  for  something  more  than 
physical  comfort.  They  did  not  propose  to 
live  by  bread  alone.  The  appealing  eyes  of  our 
daughter  Gordon  were  not  to  be  resisted  and,  as  I 
have  said,  she  entered  the  Packer  Institute  with  her 
little  sisters,  entering  the  senior  class,  where  she  soon 
graduated  with  the  first  honors, —  and  where  she 
nobly  taught  an  advanced  class,  —  relinquishing  at 
eighteen  years  of  age  all  the  pleasures  to  which  she 
was  entitled.  Theo,  I  supposed,  would  learn  law 
in  his  father's  office.  But  he,  too,  like  Goethe, 
craved  "more  light."  One  day  as  I  was  returning 
from  church  he  asked  me,  with  suppressed  feeling, 
if  he  was  ever  to  go  to  college. 

I  was  smitten  to  the  heart !  When  I  repeated  this 
to  his  father,  he  declared,  "He  shall!"  And 
within  a  few  months  a  scholarship  at  Princeton  was 
found  and  promised,  provided  the  boy  could  pass  a 
creditable  entrance  examination. 

The  little  man  went  up  alone  early  one  morning 
to  meet  his  fate.  He  returned  at  night.  "  And 
did  you  enter  ? "  we  exclaimed.  Very  calmly  he  an 
swered  :  "  They  were  very  kind  to  me  at  Princeton. 
I  was  examined  at  some  length,  and  I  shall  enter  the 
junior  class." 

When  I  packed  his  small  trunk  for  his  collegiate 

343 


344 

life,  I  found  I  had  little  to  put  into  it  —  little  more 
than  my  tears  !  His  first  report  read,  "  In  a  class 
of  eighty-three  he  stands  first." 

He  maintained  this  standing  for  two  years.  The 
class  included  bearded  men  who  had  been  prepared 
thoroughly  in  the  best  preparatory  schools.  Theo 
had  received  less  than  two  years  at  Mr.  Gordon 
McCabe's  school.  All  the  rest  of  his  time  he 
had  given  to  study,  alone,  and  unassisted. 

A  day  came  in  Petersburg  when  he,  perceiving 
the  necessities  of  his  family,  had  sold  his  beloved 
rifle  for  $40.  Out  of  that  sum  he  reserved  for 
himself  $2,  and  returned  home  with  a  work  on 
advanced  mathematics  under  his  arm. 

He  was  a  -perfect  boy.  If  he  ever  thought 
wrongly,  I  cannot  tell  —  I  know  he  never  did 
wrong.  Personally,  he  was  as  beautiful  as  he  was 
good  —  clear-eyed,  serene,  with  a  grand  air.  "  For 
the  future  of  one  of  my  children,"  I  was  wont 
to  say,  "  I  have  no  fear.  Theo  will  always  be 
fortunate."  It  was  said  of  him  by  President  McCosh 
that  he  was  "  preternaturally  gifted  mentally."  He 
always  acquired  knowledge  with  perfect  ease.  He 
studied  and  read  whatever  his  father  studied  or 
read  —  politics,  literature,  and  even  military  tactics. 
In  the  latter  he  was  so  proficient  that  when  a  little 
lad  in  linen  blouses,  the  regiments  at  Smithfield 
would  mount  him  on  a  stand  and  make  him  drill  the 
companies. 

At  the  end  of  his  collegiate  life  he  wrote  :  fc  The 
professors  have  been  so  good  as  to  give  me  the 
first  honor  and  also  the  mathematical  scholarship." 


THEODORICK  BLAND  PRYOR. 


My  Day  345 

This  scholarship  required  him  to  study  at  least  one 
year  in  an  English  university.  Accordingly,  in  the 
following  autumn  he  was  sent,  through  President 
McCosh's  advice,  to  St.  Peters,  Cambridge  Univer 
sity.  He  was  just  nineteen  when  he  graduated. 

He  was  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  be  a 
good  manager,  and  soon  perceived  that  his  $1000 
would  not  carry  him  through  his  year.  A  prize 
of  a  Cambridge  scholarship  and  $40  was  offered. 
He  worked  for  it  and  won  it  —  binding  wet  towels 
around  his  tired  brain  as  he  worked. 

I  remember  one  lovely  June  afternoon,  which 
melted  into  a  perfect  moonlight  evening.  My  little 
girls,  attired  in  white,  listened  to  the  home  music, — 
Roger,  with  his  violin,  accompanied  by  his  mother 
on  the  piano  my  dear  Aunt  Mary  had  bequeathed 
to  Gordon.  A  hasty  ring  at  the  door,  a  rush  of 
eager  steps,  and  Theo  was  in  my  arms !  We 
thought  him  lovely.  His  father  proudly  marked 
his  fine  air  and,  with  amusement,  the  delicate  hint  of 
a  rising  inflection  in  his  voice.  Never  were  people 
so  glad  and  proud.  Once  more  we  were  all  together. 

He  decided  not  to  return  to  England,  although 
his  masters  at  Cambridge  wrote  him  assuring  him 
that,  although  he  "  could  not  win  a  fellowship  with 
out  becoming  a  naturalized  British  subject,"  yet  he 
would  "  ultimately  take  an  excellent  degree."  He 
entered  the  Columbia  Law  School,  that  he  might  fit 
himself  to  be  his  father's  partner. 

In  October  he  was  called  to  a  higher  court.  One 
warm  evening  he  walked  out  "  to  cool  off  before 
sleeping,"  and  we  never  saw  him  more  ! 


34-6  My  Day 

The  tides  bore  his  beautiful  body  to  us  nine  days 
after  we  lost  him,  and  his  beloved  Alma  Mater 
claimed  it.  There  he  lies  in  the  section  reserved 
for  the  presidents  and  professors  of  the  University 
—  side  by  side  with  the  ashes  of  the  Edwards  and 
the  Alexanders  that  await  with  him  the  great  awak 
ening.  His  classmates  sent  to  Virginia  for  a  shaft 
of  granite,  and  upon  this  stone  is  inscribed:  "In 
commemoration  of  his  virtues,  genius,  and  scholar 
ship,  and  in  enduring  testimony  of  our  love,  this 
monument  is  erected  by  his  classmates." 

Of  him  a  great  future  was  expected.  "  He  was," 
said  one  of  the  journals  of  the  time,  "  one  of  the 
most  gifted  minds  that  Virginia  ever  produced. 
America  probably  had  not  his  superior.  Only 
twenty  years  at  the  time  of  his  death,  his  powerful 
and  mature  intellect  gave  assurance  of  any  position 
his  ambition  might  covet.  He  was  always  first,  and 
easily  first,  in  any  school,  academy,  or  college  that 
he  entered.  His  powers  were  indeed  marvellous. 
Proud  of  being  a  Virginian,  his  loss  to  the  state,  to 
the  country  indeed,  is  irreparable.  In  arms  and  in 
statesmanship  Virginia  has  nothing  to  covet,  —  in 
letters  a  new  field  of  glory  awaits  her.  Pryor,  fore 
most  in  that  field,  would  have  filled  it  with  the 
lustre  of  his  fame.  Oh  !  what  a  loss,  what  a  loss  !  " 

There  is  a  peculiar  bitterness  in  the  early  blight 
ing  of  such  powers.  But  although  the  laurel  was 
so  soon  snatched  from  his  brow,  he  had  already 
worked  nobly  and  achieved  greatly.  He  had  done 
more  in  his  short  life  than  the  most  of  us  during  a 
long  life.  Whether  the  end  came  through  the 


My  Day  347 

hand  of  violence,  or  from  accident,  he  could  ap 
proach  "  the  Great  Secret "  as  did  John  Sterling, 
"  without  a  thought  of  fear  and  with  very  much  of 
hope."  Such  as  he  confirm  our  faith  in  immortality 
and  make  heaven  lovelier  to  our  thought. 

He  was  a  victim  of  his  father's  fallen  fortunes. 
Now,  surely,  Nemesis  must  be  satisfied  1  Innocent 
of  crime,  we  had  yet  suffered  full  measure  for  the 
crime  of  the  nation.  Others  had  been  called  to 
give  up  their  first-born  sons.  We  had  now  given  up 
ours  !  Was  it  not  enough  ?  All  the  joy  of  life  was 
forever  ended.  Hereafter  one  bitter  memory  in 
tensified  every  pang,  poisoned  every  pleasure,  — 
so  clearly  did  our  great  bereavement  seem  to  grow 
out  of  our  misfortunes,  —  and  all  these  to  be  the 
sequence  of  cruel,  terrible,  wicked  war. 

But  why  should  I  ask  my  readers  to  listen  while 
I  press, "  like  Philomel,  my  heart  against  a  thorn  !  " 
We  can  change  nothing  in  our  lives.  We  must 
bear  the  lot  ordained  for  us !  We  need  not  ask 
others  to  suffer  with  us  !  Grosse  seelen  dulden  still ! 


The  story  I  am  telling  must  end  not  later  than 
the  year  1900  —  and  I  find  no  fitting  place  for  a 
brief  tribute  to  another  brilliant  son  whom  we  lost 
after  that  year,  unless  my  readers  will  forgive  me  for 
a  word  just  here.  I  leave  the  splendid  record  of  his 
services  as  a  physician  and  surgeon,  where  it  is  safe 
to  live  —  in  the  memories  of  his  brethren  at  home 
and  abroad.  "  Pryor's  practice  "  is  still  quoted  in 
England  and  France  as  the  salvation  of  suffering 


My  Day 

womanhood.  But  other  records  are  written  on  the 
hearts  of  the  poor  and  humble.  "Many  a  night," 
said  one  of  his  hospital  confreres,  "  with  the  East 
River  full  of  ice,  and  snow  and  sleet  pelting 
straight  in  his  face,  Dr.  William  Pryor  has  crossed 
in  a  rowboat  to  see  some  poor  waif  at  Blackwell's 
Island  upon  whom  he  had  operated,  —  carrying  with 
him  some  delicacy  the  hospital  diet-sheet  did  not 
afford." 

He  was  most  richly  endowed,  physically  and  men 
tally,  and  he  gave  to  suffering  humanity  all  that  God 
had  given  him. 

I  resolved,  when  I  consented  to  write  this  book, 
that  I  would  not  intrude  my  own  feelings  and  emo 
tions  upon  those  who  are  kind  enough  to  read  my 
story.  I  know,  alas,  I  am  not  the  only  one  upon 
whom  the  tower  of  Siloam  has  fallen.  We  are  di 
vinely  forbidden  to  believe  ourselves  more  unworthy 
than  those  who  escape  such  disaster. 

"  The  Thorny  Path/'  a  painting  by  P.  Stachie- 
wicz,  represents  women  toiling  along  a  perilous  path. 
On  one  side  is  a  high,  barren  rock ;  on  the  other  a 
ghastly  precipice.  Safety  lies  only  in  the  narrow 
path,  uneven  with  slippery  stones  and  thick-set  with 
cruel  thorns.  Two  women  are  central  figures  in  the 
procession  :  one,  ragged  and  drunken  and  cursing 
her  lot,  reels  unsteadily  against  the  flinty  wall  ;  an 
other  treads  the  same  path  with  bent  head,  and 
hands  clasped  in  prayer.  A  white  "  robe  of  right 
eousness  "  has  descended  upon  the  latter,  and  celes 
tial  light  surrounds  her  head,  albeit  the  pilgrim  feet 
are  unshod  and  torn  with  thorns. 


WILLIAM  RICE  PRYOR. 


My  Day  349 

Sometimes  a  song  or  picture  has  taught  us  more 
than  many  sermons.  When  Christine  Nilsson, 
standing  firm  and  erect  with  upward  look,  sang  "  I 
KNOW,"  we  were  thrilled  and  surprised  into  a  vivid 
faith,  which  had  burned  with  less  fervor  under  the 
teaching  of  the  pulpit.  We  had  believed,  but  now 
we  felt  that  we  knew,  that  the  Redeemer  lives  and 
will  stand  in  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth,  and  feel 
ing  this,  we  were  comforted. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

IN  1872  Horace  Greeley  was  nominated  by  the 
Democratic  party  for  the  presidency,  to  oppose 
General  Grant's  second  term,  and  wrote  to  my 
husband :  — 

"  DEAR  GENERAL  PRYOR  :  — 

u  I  want  you  to  help  me  in  this  canvass.  I  want  you  to 
go  to  Virginia  and  do  some  work  for  me  there  and  at  the 
South. 

"Your  friend, 

"  HORACE  GREELEY." 

Mr.  Greeley  had  at  first  opposed  the  Civil  War. 
He  had  suffered  great  mental  distress  at  its  approach. 
He  labored  with  all  his  might  to  prevent  a  resort  to 
arms  —  but,  when  this  was  inevitable,  he  followed 
the  advice  of  Polonius.  It  was  he  who  raised  the 
cry  "  On  to  Richmond,"  and  he  was  thereafter  a 
powerful  supporter  of  the  government.  After  the 
surrender,  he  just  as  strongly  advocated  pacific  meas 
ures,  opposed  the  action  of  the  federal  govern 
ment  in  holding  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis  a  prisoner 
without  trial,  and,  oblivious  to  all  personal  and 
pecuniary  consequences,  had  gone  to  Richmond  and 
in  open  court  signed  the  bail-bond  of  the  Confed 
erate  President. 

It  can  be  easily  perceived  that  the  active  support 
of  a  man  like  General  Pryor  —  who  could  remember 

350 


My  Day  351 

and  use  to  advantage  these  facts  —  might  be  ex 
tremely  useful  to  Mr.  Greeley.  The  temptation 
appealed,  with  force,  to  my  husband.  Active  politi 
cal  life  had  been  his  most  successful,  most  agreeable 
occupation,  but  he  remembered  his  resolution  to  work* 
and  work  in  the  study  of  his  profession,  and  declined 
Mr.  Greeley's  invitation. 

"  You  are  making  a  great  mistake,"  said  one  of 
his  friends,  "  in  your  office  all  day,  and  at  home  all 
night.  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  expect  to 
get  along !  You  never  make  a  visit  —  you  are 
never  seen  at  a  club  or  any  public  gathering." 

"  Very  true,"  said  my  husband,  "  but  I  am  per 
suaded  that  my  only  hope  for  salvation  here  is  to  know 
something,  have  something  the  New  York  people 
want.  They  do  want  good  lawyers,  and  I  must  study 
day  and  night  to  make  myself  one." 

His  friend,  John  Russell  Young,  far  away  in 
Europe,  heard  of  Mr.  Greeley's  campaign.  Him 
self  an  intense  Republican  and  devoted  friend  of 
General  Grant,  he  could  not  learn  with  equanimity 
of  any  added  strength  to  Mr.  Greeley  from  the 
support  of  the  South.  He  wrote  from  Geneva, 
September  16,  1872:  — 

"  DEAR  PRYOR  :  — 

cc  I  saw  in  the  New  York  World  that  you  were  to  make 
a  speech  in  favor  of  Greeley  in  Virginia,  and  had  my  own 
reflections  on  the  announcement.  I  should  like  to  exchange 
observations  with  Mrs.  Pryor  on  this  subject,  as  she  has 
positive  political  convictions.  But  I  remember  her  saying 
once  that  darning  stockings  had  a  debilitating  effect  upon 
literary  aspirations  —  and  she  made  no  reservation  in  favor 


352  My  Day 

of  politics.  At  the  present  moment  I  should  like  to  en 
list  her  attention  and  support. 

"  The  idea  of  R.  A.  P.  — the  representative  fire-eater,  the 
Robespierre,  or  Danton,  or,  if  you  like  it  better,  the  Harry 
Hotspur  of  the  Southern  Revolution,  —  the  one  orator  who 
clamored  so  impatiently  for  the  Shrewsbury  clock  to  strike, 
—  oh,  my  friend  !  The  spectacle  of  this  leader  champion 
ing  Horace  Greeley  !  Can  the  irony  of  events  have  a 
deeper  illustration  ?  Miserere  !  How  the  world  is  tum 
bling  !  What  can  we  expect  next  ?  Jefferson  Davis  and 
Frederick  Douglass  running  on  the  presidential  ticket,  in 
favor  of  Chinese  suffrage  !  If  you  really  did  make  a  speech, 
send  it  to  me.  I  suppose  in  your  own  mind  you  have 
made  many,  for  events  like  these  develop  thought  in  the 
minds  of  all  thinking  men.  I  do  not  see  Greeley's  elec 
tion.  I  have  a  letter  from  him  written  in  July  which  speaks 
very  cheerfully.  But  I  have  a  letter  from  the  White  House 
quite  as  cheerful.  I  cannot  think  that  Grant  will  be 
beaten ;  and  am  certain,  with  all  deference  to  Mrs.  Pryor's 
positive  political  views,  that  he  should  not  be.  I  can 
understand  the  passionate  desire  you  and  your  people  have 
for  honest  reconstruction.  I  can  see  how  you  might  even 
fall  into  the  arms  of  Horace  Greeley  to  achieve  such  a  de 
liverance.  But  there  is  no  honest  reconstruction  possible 
under  Mr.  Greeley  and  the  men  who  would  accompany 
him  in  power.  The  South  has  its  future  in  its  own  hands. 
If  the  men  who  led  it  as  you  did  had  followed  your  example 
when  the  war  was  over,  there  would  be  no  trouble.  But 
that  required  courage  — a  higher  courage  than  ever  rebellion 
demanded ;  and  if  the  South  has  not  reasserted  itself,  it  is 
the  fault  of  the  Southern  men  themselves. 

u  But  I  will  not  preach  politics  from  this  distance.  If 
you  are  not  in  the  campaign,  keep  out !  Run  over  here 
with  Miss  Gordon.  How  delighted  I  should  be  to  see 
you.  I  am  sure  mademoiselle  would  revel  in  Paris.  Mrs. 


My  Day  353 

Young  would  travel  with  her,  too,  to  Germany,  visit  all 
the  famous  convents  and  ecclesiastical  establishments  and, 
finally,  wind  up  with  Paris  and  an  exhausted  search  through 
the  shops. 

"For  myself,  I  feel  that  I  am  having  opportunities  and 
neglecting  them.  However,  I  have  always  my  work,  have 
grappled  with  French,  done  something  in  Spanish,  and  have 
designs  on  the  German  language.  But  as  you  can  only 
eat  your  artichoke  a  leaf  at  a  time,  French  is  my  main 
occupation  outside  my  business.  I  don't  have  time  to  play 
chess  —  and  I  presume  Miss  Gordon  will  give  me  a 
knight  when  we  play  next.  You  mustn't  think  me  utterly 
good-for-naught.  I  have  finished  Carlyle's  c  Frederick J  in 
thirteen  volumes  —  think  of  that !  In  the  summer  I  dissi 
pated  in  novels,  —  'Don  Quixote,'  'Tom  Jones,'  c  Roder 
ick  Random,'  —  and  now  1  am  about  to  begin  'Romola,' 
which  Bayard  Taylor  said  yesterday  was  the  best  historical 
novel  in  our  language.  Remember  me  most  kindly  to  all 
at  home,  and  believe  me  to  be,  dear  Pryor, 

"  Your  friend  sincerely, 

"  JOHN  RUSSELL  YOUNG." 

We  had  first  known  John  Russell  Young  as  a  boy 
sent  by  Colonel  Forney  to  report  a  speech  of  my 
husband's  in  Congress,  now  on  the  staff  of  the  New 
York  Herald.  During  a  temporary  residence  in 
London  he  began  a  series  of  charming  letters  to  my 
daughter  —  lasting  until  the  end  of  his  life.  From 
London  he  wrote  :  — 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  GORDON  :  — 

"  I  send  you  two  autographs  —  one  is  from  Dinah 
Mulock  Craik  (who  wrote  'John  Halifax,'  you  know),  the 
other  from  Mr.  Gladstone,  the  former  Premier. 

2A 


354  My  Day 

"  I  shall  try  to  obtain  an  autograph  of  Carlyle,  and  his 
photograph,  for  your  library.  The  old  man  is  very  hard  to 
reach  —  he  is  very  old.  I  have  not  seen  George  Eliot 
yet,  but  will.  I  dined  with  William  Black  last  evening. 

u  I  have  had  a  good  time  in  London.  I  never  had  so  much 
attention  in  my  life  —  I  don't  know  how  it  happened,  but 
so  it  fell.  My  Macmillan  article  opened  the  door,  however, 
of  every  newspaper  and  magazine  to  me  —  and  the  door  is 
of  no  use,  except  to  look  inside  !  But  fancy  the  people  I 
have  met !  —  not,  as  I  said,  Carlyle  or  George  Eliot  (but 
she  is  possible  when  she  comes  home),  but  I  think  I  have 
dined  with  nearly  everybody  else.  Green  —  the  short 
history  man  —  and  I  have  become  good  friends.  I  told 
him  how  much  you  liked  his  book,  and  he  blushed  like  a 
June  rose.  I  have  dined  with  Huxley,  Tyndall,  Froude, 
Browning,  Herbert  Spencer,  Kingsley,  Bryce,  Green, 
Norman  Lockyer,  William  Black,  Motley,  and  I  don't 
know  how  many  others,  —  so  you  see,  as  far  as  coming 
abroad  has  any  value  in  enlarging  one's  horizon,  I  have  not 
come  in  vain.  You  must  forgive  the  vanity  of  all  this,  but 
when  one  is  away  from  home,  what  can  one  do  but  write 
about  one's  own  self  ? 

"  I  wrote  your  father  last  week  that  I  was  about  to 
come  home.  I  packed  all  my  trunks  and  engaged  my 
room  on  the  Adriatic,  which  sails  on  the  25th.  A  cable 
comes  from  Mr.  Bennett  asking  me  to  await  his  coming. 
So  I  have  unpacked  my  trunk  and  again  resigned  myself  to 
the  London  fog.  If  you  will  gently  break  the  news  to  the 
retired  statesman  who  mourns  over  the  decadence  of  the 
republic,  you  will  be  a  dutiful  child  and  my  very  good 
friend.  I  am  very  much  disappointed  in  not  going  home. 
There  is  a  little  woman  whose  eyes  are,  I  suppose,  sad 
enough  straining  through  the  mists  for  a  truant  lord  who 
seems  to  wander  as  long  as  Ulysses.  There  are  friends 
whose  faces  it  would  be  sunshine  to  see,  —  and  there  are 


My  Day  355 

duties  in  the  way  of  educating  public  opinion  on  the 
question  of  the  presidency,  —  all  of  which  is  only  a  round 
about  way  of  saying  I  am  homesick,  and  that  I  would  give 
the  best  book  in  my  library  (you  see  how  extravagant 
I  am)  if  it  were  in  my  power  to  accept  an  invitation  from 
your  mother  to  tea.  I  would  even  run  the  risk  of  a  quarrel 
with  your  father  on  politics  !  Remember  me  to  all  at 
home  —  to  your  mother  with  especial  duty,  and  believe  me, 
my  dear  Miss  Gordon, 

"  Always  yours  sincerely, 

"  JNO.  RUSSELL  YOUNG." 

u  P.S.  —  From  a  letter  your  mother  has  kindly  written  me, 
I  perceive  you  are  to  visit  Virginia.  Now  if  you  will  only 
justify  the  hopes  of  your  friends  and  bring  back  a  descend 
ant  of  Pocahontas  or  Patrick  Henry  or  of  G.  W.  to  be  a 
comfort  to  your  father  and  mother,  I  shall  feel  you  have 
not  visited  Virginia  in  vain.  However,  as  that  is  a  subject 
from  which  I  have  often  been  warned  away  by  the  Pryor 
family,  I  shall  not  venture  to  give  any  advice. 

"  Again  your  friend  sincerely, 

"  JNO.  RUSSELL  YOUNG." 

"  I  am  sending  you,"  he  says  in  another  letter,  u  a  notice 
able  article  on  George  Eliot's  work.  You  will  observe 
the  tendency  to  criticise,  and  quotations  of  little  things  to 
sustain  an  adverse  verdict.  I  remember  only  better  things. 
Of  course  I  must  acknowledge  the  tinge  of  bitterness  in  all 
of  George  Eliot's  writings,  but  the  latter-day  critic  brings 
a  railing  accusation  against  the  artistic  features  of  her  books. 
He  thinks  it  was  a  dreadful  thing  for  Dorothea  to  marry  a 
second  time,  but  how  trifling  is  all  this  !  I  always  feel 
when  I  have  finished  'AdamBede'  and  'Middlemarch'  like 
saying  in  reverence,  '  Oh,  Mistress  !  Oh,  my  Queen  !  ' 
for  she  is  the  mistress  and  queen  of  her  art,  and  ought  to 
be  mentioned  with  Carlyle  and  Hugo." 


356  My  Day 

The  (i  chance  "  for  which  General  Pryor  for  nine 
years  had  worked  and  waited  came  at  last.  A  New 
York  correspondent  of  the  St.  Louis  Republican 
thus  comments  upon  the  event :  "  General  Pryor 
borrowed  the  law  books  which  he  needed  to  begin 
the  study  requisite  to  enable  him  to  do  justice  to 
his  clients,  and  he  studied  as  he  fought — bravely. 
No  man  has  burned  more  midnight  oil,  and  from 
being  no  lawyer  ten  years  ago,  he  has  grown  to  be  a 
most  accomplished  and  erudite  member  of  the  bar. 
In  his  late  great  speech  in  the  trial  of  Tilton  against 
Henry  Ward  Beecher,  in  resisting  the  attempt  of 
William  M.  Evarts,  of  Beecher's  counsel,  to  prevent 
the  plaintiff  from  testifying,  General  Pryor  hurled 
law  at  the  head  of  Mr.  Evarts  which  the  latter  in 
all  of  his  delving  had  not  reached,  and  Mr.  Evarts 
complimented  General  Pryor,  not  only  upon  the 
brilliant  presentation  of  the  law,  but  upon  his  ex 
tended  acquaintance  with  the  authorities.  His 
speech  won  the  point  for  Tilton.  He  is  known  to 
be  an  indefatigable  student.  Seven  hours  a  day  he 
studies  law  as  though  he  needs  it  all  on  the  morrow. 
No  man  in  New  York  has  a  more  brilliant  future ; 
and  when  it  comes,  no  man  will  have  so  completely 
carved  out  his  own  way  and  made  his  own  fortune." 

This  trial  against  America's  great  preacher  was 
famous  at  home  and  in  England.  The  accusation 
of  Theodore  Tilton  aroused  a  tremendous  feeling 
throughout  the  United  States  and  abroad  wherever 
Mr.  Beecher's  great  reputation  had  established  itself. 
The  trial  lasted  six  months.  Mr.  Tilton's  counsel 
were  Mr.  Beach,  Hon.  Sam  Morris,  Judge  Fullerton, 


My  Day  357 

and  General  Pryor.  Arrayed  against  them  were 
Hon.  William  M.  Evarts,  Hon.  Benjamin  Tracy, 
Thomas  Shearman,  and  Austin  Abbott. 

To  General  Pryor  was  intrusted  all  the  delicate 
or  obscure  questions  of  law  incident  upon  the  case. 
The  press  of  the  day  universally  awarded  him  the 
highest  praise  for  learning  and  thorough  knowledge 
of  his  subject.  He  won  a  very  great  reputation, 
and  from  that  time  onward  felt  that  his  professional 
career  was  to  be  an  active  one.  The  impression  the 
new  advocate  —  the  rebel  politician  and  soldier 
turned  lawyer  —  made  upon  the  correspondents  of 
the  press  never  varied.  A  New  York  correspond 
ent  of  an  Ohio  paper1  thus  describes  him  :  — 

"  General  Pryor's  reply  to  Mr.  Evarts's  was,  after  all, 
the  greatest  surprise  of  the  day.  It  was  so  remarkable  in 
many  respects,  that  I  am  at  a  loss  where  to  begin  the- 
characterization.  Not  an  exciting  topic,  one  would  say, 
for  a  fiery  Southern  orator,  to  analyze  the  statutes  of  the 
state  of  New  York  on  the  subject  of  evidence  from  mar 
ried  people.  But  it  was  evident  from  the  very  first,  though 
formal,  sentence,  that  exploded  from  General  Pryor's  lips 
that  he  needed  no  outward  occasion  to  minister  excitement 
to  his  surcharged. batteries  of  personal  electricity.  A  dry 
legal  question  was  provocation  enough ;  what  he  would 
do  under  the  heat  of  an  impassioned  issue  is  inconceiv 
able,  if  the  proportions  of  occasion  and  effect  were  pre 
served.  His  execution,  to  borrow  a  musician's  term,  is 
prodigious,  considered  merely  as  a  tour  de  force.  It  is  a 
volcanic  torrent  of  speech.  To  say  the  enunciation  is 
rapid,  is  nothing  :  it  is  lightning-like.  The  most  dex- 

1  The  Herald,  and  Empire,  Dayton,  Ohio. 


358  My  Day 

terous  reporters  could  hardly  follow  him.  Its  nervous 
energy  is  equally  remarkable,  and  seems  to  break  out  from 
every  pore  of  his  body,  as  well  as  out  of  his  mouth,  eyes, 
and  finger  ends.  With  the  legal  volume  in  his  left  hand, 
the  eye-glass  quivering  in  his  right,  and  jumping  to  his  nose 
and  off  again,  with  or  without  object,  like  a  thing  of  life, 
or  emphasizing  the  utterance  with  thrusting  gestures  of  its 
own  ;  his  head  thrown  up,  at  every  beginning  his  eyes 
shoot  straight  at  the  judge  as  if  they  would  transfix  him, 
and  he  drives  onward  like  a  Jehu  rushing  into  battle.  He 
has  no  moderate  passages  ;  but  perhaps  he  will  avail  him 
self  of  these  effects  when  he  comes  to  address  the  jury. 
And  yet,  all  this  prodigious  nervous  expenditure,  so  far 
from  drawing  off  the  power  of  the  brain,  is  only  an  index 
of  its  action  ;  so  far  from  jarring  the  self-possession  and 
sequence  of  thought,  or  the  precision  of  conception  and 
expression,  it  only  enhances  and  secures  all  these,  as  sheer 
impetus  sustains  the  equilibrium  of  a  wheel.  The  diction, 
with  all  its  headlong  speed,  is  perfect  in  precision  and  force, 
and  no  less  in  elegance  ;  not  an  after  word,  not  a  word  of 
surplusage,  or  a  word  to  be  bettered  in  revisal ;  and  the 
like  is  true  of  the  closely  knit  argument." 

This  picture,  drawn  with  a  bold  hand,  greatly 
amused  the  home  circle  in  Willow  Street.  But  then, 
we  had  not  heard  the  speech ! 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

GORDON  and  I  had  the  privilege  of  seeing 
Charlotte  Cushman  when,  no  longer  able 
to  act  in  the  plays  in  which  she  had  so  dis 
tinguished  herself,  she  gave  a  reading  at  one  of  the 
large  halls  in  New  York.  She  was  infirm,  less  from 
age  than  a  malady  which  was  consuming  her.  I 
found  an  immense  audience  assembled  in  her  honor. 
There  were  no  more  seats,  no  more  standing  room. 
She  had  no  assistants,  no  support.  A  chair  behind 
a  small  table  was  all  the  mise  en  scene,  and  here, 
dressed  in  a  matronly  gown  of  black  silk  and  lace, 
the  great  tragedienne  seated  herself.  Her  gray  hair 
was  rolled  back  a  la  Pompadour  from  her  broad,  high 
forehead,  and  beneath  black  brows  her  eye  kindled 
as  she  glanced  over  the  fine  audience.  As  she  de 
scribed  it  afterward,  "  a  modest  farewell  reading  blos 
somed  into  a  brilliant  testimonial." 

After  our  enthusiastic  response  to  her  graceful 
greeting,  she  said  simply  :  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen, 
I  shall  read  —  I  trust  for  your  pleasure,  surely  for 
mine,"  laying  her  hand  upon  her  heart — "from 
the  second  scene  in  the  third  act  of  'Henry  the 
Eighth." 

It  so  happened  there  had  been,  incident  upon  her 
appearance,  a  remarkable  discussion  in  some  of  the 
journals  of  the  day.  The  wise  ones,  the  elect,  had 
paused  in  their  speculations  as  to  the  authorship  of 

359 


360  My  Day 

Shakespeare's  plays,  or  the  Letters  of Junius,  or  the  en 
lightenment  of  the  nations  by  certain  rearrangement 
of  periods  in  Hamlet's  immortal  soliloquy,  and  had 
cast  an  eye  of  scrutiny  upon  Wolsey's  magnificent 
monologue.  To  nous  autres  it  seems  clear  enough 
as  it  is  —  but  who  are  we  that  we  should  know 
the  heart  hidden  under  a  red  robe  ?  They  gravely 
opined  that  the  king,  not  God,  was  meant  in  the 
lines,  "  Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal," 
etc.  Without  doubt  Charlotte  Cushman  was  aware 
of  this  remarkable  discussion.  A  good  many  backs 
were  straightened  to  "  attention  "  as  she  reached  the 
noble  words :  — 

« «  .   .    .   O  Cromwell,  Cromwell  ! 
Had  I  but  served  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 
I  served  my  king,  HE  would  not  in  mine  age 
Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies." 

She  pointed  upward  as  she  uttered  reverently  the 
word  "HE." 

From  this,  after  a  brief  pause  —  she  did  not  leave 
her  seat  all  evening  —  she  passed  to  "Much  Ado 
about  Nothing."  Never  was  there  such  a  Dog 
berry,  bursting  with  arrogance  and  ignorance.  Mrs. 
Maloney,  on  the  Chinese  question,  followed,  dis 
missing,  with  inimitable  impudence,  the  mistress 
who  had  just  shown  her  the  door.  Then  she 
became  the  loyal,  spirited,  wildly  sweet  Kentucky 
girl  and  her  blue-grass  horse,  Kentucky  Belle, — • 
utterly  charming,  both  of  them,  —  concluding  with 
"  Molly  Carew."  In  this  she  was  tremendous.  The 
policemen  at  the  door  came  in  to  listen  ;  the  ap- 


My  Day  361 

plause  was  loud  and  long.  "  Molly  Carew,"  forsooth ! 
What  is  there  in  "  Molly  Carew  "  ?  What  in  the  en 
treaty  to  take  off  her  bonnet  lest  she  cost  her  lover, 
as  he  declares,  "  the  loss  of  me  wanderin'  soul/'  to 
bring  down  the  house  ?  What  in  the  indignant 
summing  up  that  she  had  better  be  careful ;  "  you'll 
feel  mighty  queer  when  you  see  me  weddin'  mairch- 
ing  down  the  street  an'  yersilf  not  in  it  "  ? 

I  soon  found  out  how  much  there  was  in  Molly 
Carew  per  se,  with  no  Charlotte  Cushman  to  in 
terpret  !  I  happened  to  have  Samuel  Lover's 
poems,  and  when  I  reached  home,  I  took  the  book 
from  the  library  shelves  and  summoned  the  children 
to  listen  to  the  funniest  thing  they  had  ever  heard 
in  all  their  lives.  "  I  warn  you,"  said  I,  "  you'll 
half  kill  yourselves  laughing." 

I  read  "  Molly  Carew."  Round  eyes  opened  wider 
in  astonishment  as  I  proceeded.  There  was  not 
a  smile ;  not  the  faintest  glimmer  of  mirth.  Dead 
silence  was  broken  by  a  polite  "  Is  that  all  ?  Thank 
you,  mamma,"  as  they  escaped.  Oh,  genius,  gift  of 
the  gods  !  Who  can  measure  it  ?  Who,  not  born  to 
it,  can  hope  to  win  it !  Who  can  attain  even  a  far 
away  imitation  of  it !  How  it  can  clothe  and 
glorify  the  simplest  ideas !  How  it  transfigured 
Charlotte  Cushman  —  haggard  and  gray  from  keen 
physical  suffering,  knowing  well  that  her  hour  was 
at  hand  !  What  noble  restraint  in  her  selections, 
ignoring  pain  and  sorrow,  denying  herself  the  tribute 
of  sympathy,  bidding  us  good  night  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips  and  words  demanding  an  answering  smile  on 
ours  ! 


362  My  Day 

To  remember  Charlotte  Cushman  is  to  recall 
Madame  Helena  Modjeska — totally  different,  cer 
tainly  not  inferior.  I  met  her  in  society  in  New 
York.  Her  beautiful  face,  her  tender,  sensitive 
mouth,  and  the  "far-away  lookofhereyes,  as  though 
she  were  thinking  of  the  wrongs  of  Poland,"  are 
never  to  be  forgotten.  And  the  splendor  of  her 
genius  !  I  saw  her  as  Ophelia  to  Edwin  Booth's 
Hamlet.  "You  are  as  good  as  a  Greek  chorus,  my 
lord," — she  in  a  Savonarola  chair,  he  on  ufauteuil 
at  her  feet.  I  saw  her  also  as  Queen  Catherine.  I 
think  she  impressed  all  who  knew  her  as  a  most 
sad  woman.  But  is  not  melancholy  the  preroga 
tive  of  genius  ?  I,  for  one,  never  knew  a  man  or 
woman  of  genius,  real  genius,  who  was  merry. 
Madame  Modjeska  made  melancholy  beautiful. 

She  was  once  the  guest  of  a  lady  who  had  gathered 
together  a  number  of  choice  spirits  in  her  honor. 
One  of  them,  forgotten  of  her  good  angel,  asked, 
"  How  do  you  like  our  country,  madame  !  " 

"  Oh,"  spreading  out  her  hands  to  signify  empty 
space,  and  speaking  in  a  weary  tone,  "  Oh  !  It  is  all 
—  all  one  great  level." 

"Ah,  but,"  said  her  hostess,  "patience!  I  shall 
introduce  you  by  and  by  to  a  little  hill." 

An  introduction  followed,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
evening  Madame  Modjeska,  pressing  the  hand  of 
her  hostess  at  parting,  said  with  feeling  :  - 

"Ah,  madame  !     She  was  one  great  mountain  !  " 

Before  the  war  which  cut  me  off  from  every 
pleasure  demanding  leisure  and  a  little  money,  I 
heard  the  elder  Booth  in  "  Hamlet"  — and  I  must 


I 


HELENA  MODJESKA. 


My  Day  363 

confess  he  was  rather  a  wheezy  Hamlet  in  his  old 
age.  In  Brooklyn  the  circumstances  of  my  life  for 
bade  my  indulging  my  passion  for  music  and  the 
enjoyment  of  a  good  play,  but  we  had  tickets  for 
gallery  seats  to  see  Edwin  Booth  when  Madame 
Modjeska  played  with  him.  Afterward  we  saw  him 
in  "  The  Fool's  Revenge,"  and  I  remember  being 
quite  carried  away  and  oblivious  of  everything  except 
his  splendid  acting,  until  the  calm  voice  of  my  son  re 
called  me,  "  Don't  you  think,  mamma,  you  had  better 
sit  down  ?  "  I  spent  a  summer  at  Narragansett  in 
the  same  hotel  with  Mr.  Booth  when  he  was  resting 
his  weary  brain.  He  had  a  hooded  chair  placed  in 
a  corner  of  a  veranda  overlooking  the  sea,  and  there 
alone  and  in  silence  he  spent  most  of  his  time.  His 
devoted  daughter  ministered  to  him  and  carefully 
protected  him  from  intrusion.  At  certain  conditions 
of  the  tide  the  sands  of  the  Narragansett  beach  emit 
a  weird,  faint,  singing  sound  as  the  waves  recede 
from  them, — moaning,  as  it  were,  because  they  are 
left  behind.  These  sounds  could  not  be  heard  by 
every  ear.  Some  eager  listeners  never  could  hear 
them.  I  used  to  wonder  if  Edwin  Booth  did,  and 
wish  I  could  ask  him  what  they  said  to  him.  I 
might  even  tell  him  what  they  said  to  me  !  But  his 
"  Edwina"  watched  him  jealously,  and  we  respected 
his  evident  prostration  of  mind  and  spirit.  His 
place  at  table  was  near  mine.  A  moonlight  smile 
would  steal  over  his  face  when  his  two  grand 
children,  rosy  little  tots,  came  to  him  at  dessert  for 
a  bit  of  sweet  from  the  hand  whose  slightest  gesture 
had  once  been  able  to  move  a  multitude.  The  next 


364  My  Day 

time  he  was  brought  vividly  before  us  we  were  in  a 
great  assembly  of  his  friends,  listening  to  Mr.  Parke 
Godwin,  —  his  friend  and  ours,  —  as  he  told  of  the 
sun  whose  rise,  whose  splendid  noon,  and  whose 
setting  we  were  ever  to  remember. 

In  the  autumn  of  1882  our  old  Southern  friend, 
General  R.  D.  Lilley,  visited  New  York  in  the  in 
terests  of  Washington  and  Lee  University.  Colo 
nel  Mapleson,  with  Adelina  Patti,  Nicolini,  and  the 
famous  danseuse^  Cavalassi,  had  just  arrived  for  a 
brilliant  season  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House. 
General  Lilley  sent  me  a  letter  from  Colonel  Maple- 
son,  —  which  lies  before  me,  —  in  which  he  offered 
"a  grand  entertainment  to  be  given  about  the  3d  of 
March  for  the  endowment  of  scholarships  in  Wash 
ington  and  Lee  University,  in  which  entertainment 
the  leading  artists  of  the  opera  would  appear,"  and 
asked  for  a  committee  of  ladies  to  act  in  concert 
with  him. 

General  Lilley  was  in  a  quandary.  He  knew  no 
New  York  ladies.  No  more  did  I.  But  finally  he 
won  his  way  into  the  good  graces  of  the  widow  of 
Governor  Dix  and  mother  of  the  Rev.  Morgan  Dix, 
who  granted  her  drawing-room  for  our  meetings, 
and  doubtless  consulted  her  own  visiting  list  to 
find  patronesses.  When,  at  the  general's  earnest 
prayer,  I  went  over  to  the  first  meeting,  I  found  a 
noble  band  of  women  all  enthusiasm  over  the  proj 
ect.  I  was  a  stranger  in  New  York,  and  but  dimly 
recognized  the  names  on  the  committee  with  my  own : 
Mrs.  John  Dix,  Mrs.  August  Belmont,  Mrs.  Will 
iam  M.  Evarts,  Mrs.  Francis  R.  Rives,  Mrs. 


My  Day  365 

John  Jay,  Mrs.  (Commodore)  Vanderbilt,  Mrs. 
Vincenzo  Botta,  Mrs.  Henry  Clews,  Mrs.  James 
Brown  Potter,  Mrs.  Winfield  S.  Hancock,  and 
others,  about  fifty  in  all  !  I  can  now  easily  under 
stand  that  this  committee  had  but  to  will  a  thing, 
and  if  it  were  not  accomplished,  the  fault  would  not 
lie  in  their  lack  of  potentiality.  They  had  but  to 
say  the  word.  Means,  overflowing  means,  and  gen 
erous  patronage  would  be  assured. 

Colonel  Mapleson  met  with  us  at  our  meetings, 
which  Mrs.  Dix  made  delightful.  We  had  ani 
mated  discussions  over  Mrs.  Dix's  tea-cups,  and 
adopted  fine  resolutions.  Patti,  the  colonel  assured 
us,  would  sing,  —  certainly,  —  but  she  needed  a  vast 
deal  of  coaxing  and  mock  entreaty.  Then  every 
day  Nicolini  —  whom  she  had  recently  married  — 
wrote  us  a  letter  presenting  some  difficulty  which  we 
must  settle.  The  flowers  we  ordered  were  beyond 
compare  —  to  Arditi,  the  orchestra  leader,  a  large 
music  scroll  in  white  flowers,  and  upon  this  ground 
the  first  bars  of  his  "  II  bacio  "  in  blue  violets.  To 
the  witch  Cavalassi  we  voted  a  floral  slipper,  to  Colo 
nel  Mapleson  a  silken  banner  of  Stars  and  Stripes. 
What,  alas  !  could  we  do  for  Patti  ?  Could  anything 
be  enough  ?  At  last  we  sent  for  Colonel  Mapleson. 
"  Ladies,"  he  said,  cc  this  will  be  your  easiest  task. 
Come  to  the  opera-house  with  bouquets  in  your 
hands  or  corsage,  tied  with  cords  you  have  taken 
from  your  fans,  and  throw  them  to  her,  impul 
sively.  There's  nothing  she  so  dotes  on  as  to 
run  all  over  the  stage  and  pick  up  flowers,  affect 
intense  surprise  at  each  new  bouquet,  press  them 


366  My  Day 

to  her  heart,  and  be  utterly  overcome  at  last  as 
she  runs  away." 

All  this  was  done,  I  learned,  for  I  was  not  there 
to  see  !  Colonel  Mapleson,  however,  did  not  for 
get  me.  He  sent  me  the  monogram  cut  in  gold  of 
Washington  and  Lee  University,  and  I  often  wear 
it  as  a  souvenir  of  my  charming  hours  with  good 
Mrs.  Dix  and  her  friends. 

When  I  came  to  the  city  to  live,  I  found  that 
Dr.  Dix,  his  lovely  mother,  and  many  of  the  ladies 
of  our  committee  still  remembered  me.  This  was 
not  the  last  time  we  were  together  in  a  benevolent 
enterprise,  nor  the  last  time  Patti  honored  me. 
Childish  as  were  the  little  arts  attributed  to  her  by 
Colonel  Mapleson,  she  could  give  evidence  of  a  big 
warm  heart  on  occasion  ! 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

IN  1877  the  leading  citizens  of  Brooklyn  invited 
General  Pryor  to  deliver  an  address  at  the  Acad 
emy  of  Music  on  Decoration  Day.  This  was 
an  opportunity  he  had  long  desired,  and  the  invita 
tion  was  eagerly  accepted.  With  great  zeal  and  bit 
terness  some  of  the  veterans  of  the  Grand  Army 
resented  the  invitation,  upon  which  my  husband 
promptly  declined  the  honor.  I  do  not  give  the 
names  of  the  old  soldiers  —  they  have  long  ago  been 
forgiven  and  are  fully  understood.  A  heated  cor 
respondence  followed  —  one  side  generous,  fraternal 
feeling,  on  the  other  the  bleeding  afresh  of  old,  un- 
healed  wounds.  Finally,  the  general,  —  although 
the  charm,  the  grace,  of  the  compliment  was  all 
gone,  —  perceiving  it  would  be  childish  and  ungrate 
ful  to  persist  in  declining  to  speak,  consented. 

The  interesting  nature  of  the  occasion,  and  the 
conflict  it  had  aroused,  drew  a  very  great  audience 
to  the  Academy  of  Music.  My  husband  never 
needed  notes  in  speaking,  but  this  time  Gordon,  in 
a  very  large,  clear  hand,  wrote  out  his  address  that 
he  might  refresh,  if  necessary,  his  memory. 

It  was  not  necessary.  He  was  full  of  fire  and 
enthusiasm,  and  nobly  gave  the  noble  sentiments 
eagerly  quoted  next  day  by  the  New  York  tribune. 
The  closing  paragraph  strikes  no  uncertain  note.  It 
must  have  surprised  his  audience  :  — 

367 


368  My  Day 

"  From  the  vantage  ground  of  a  larger  observation,  with 
a  more  calm  and  considerable  meditation  on  the  causes  and 
conditions  of  national  prosperity,  I,  for  one,  cannot  resist 
the  conclusion  that,  after  all,  Providence  wisely  ordered  the 
event,  and  that  it  is  well  for  the  South  itself  that  it  was 
disappointed  in  its  endeavor  to  establish  a  separate  govern 
ment.  Plain  is  it  that,  if  once  established,  such  a  govern 
ment  could  not  have  long  endured.  It  was  founded  on 
principles  that  must  have  proved  its  downfall.  It  must 
soon  have  fallen  a  victim  to  foreign  aggression  or  domestic 
anarchy.  Nor  to  the  reestablishment  of  the  Union  is  the 
Confederate  soldier  any  the  less  reconciled  by  the  destruc 
tion  of  slavery.  People  of  the  North,  history  will  record 
that  slavery  fell,  not  by  any  efforts  of  man's  will,  but  by 
the  immediate  intervention  and  act  of  the  Almighty  Him 
self.  And  in  the  anthem  of  praise  ascending  to  heaven 
for  the  emancipation  of  four  million  human  beings,  the 
voice  of  the  Confederate  soldier  mingles  its  note  of  devout 
gratulation.  And  now  in  the  unconquerable  strength  of  free 
dom  we  may  hope  that  the  existence  of  our  blessed  Union 
is  limited  only  by  the  mortality  that  measures  the  duration 
of  all  human  institutions.  \_Prolonged  applause.~\  " —  Tribune, 
May  31. 

"  General  Roger  A.  Pryor's  Decoration  Day  address  wins 
golden  opinions.  It  was  brave,  patriotic,  and  statesman 
like.  He  grasps  the  situation.  He  does  not  take  much 
stock  in  bygones,  thinks  gravestones  are  made  to  leave  be 
hind  and  not  to  tie  to,  and  would  rather  have  a  live  man 
with  average  common  sense  than  the  biggest  obituary  that 
was  ever  written.  General  Pryor  is  one  of  the  few  men 
who  have  a  to-morrow."  —  Evening  Express,  June  12. 

The  Springfield  Republican,  May  31,  says:  — 

"  The  Grand  Army  fellows  who  opposed  inviting  Roger 
A.  Pryor  to  deliver  the  address  at  Brooklyn  yesterday 


My  Day  369 

probably  feel  pretty  well  ashamed  of  themselves  by  this  time. 
Certainly  they  would  have  deprived  the  country  of  a  very 
desirable  speech  if  they  had  succeeded  in  preventing  his 
speaking." 

Broad  as  were  the  views  of  the  ex-rebel  at  this 
time,  the  Southern  papers  indorsed  him  :  — 

"  General  Roger  A.  Pryor's  address  on  Decoration  Day,  at 
Brooklyn,  New  York,  is  quite  remarkable.  It  is  very  brill 
iant  and  very  eloquent.  There  is  logic,  but  it  is  c  logic  on 
fire,'  as  Macaulay  said  of  Lord  Chatham.  There  is  a 
magnificent  sweep  in  the  sentences,  and  high  and  patriotic 
thought  throughout.  It  reminds  us  in  its  glow  and  passion, 
in  its  rich  and  flowing  rhetoric,  and  in  its  exquisite  dic 
tion  of  Edmund  Burke's  tremendous  speech  on  the  c  Nabob 
of  Arcot's  Debts.'  We  do  not  think  any  man  can  accom 
pany  the  orator,  with  his  kindling,  intense  periods  and  so 
norous,  ornate  style,  with  his  lofty  thought  and  impassioned 
eloquence,  without  a  responsive  thrill  of  emotion  and  a  feel 
ing  of  pride  that  this  master  of  speech  is  a  Southron." 

—  Wilmington  (N.C.)  Star. 

"  The  address  of  General  Roger  A.  Pryor  delivered  on 
Decoration  Day  at  Brooklyn,  N.Y.,  is  a  brilliant  pro 
duction.  Like  everything  emanating  from  him,  it  is  full  of 
fine  thought  and  fine  sentiment,  with  a  sweeping  array  of 
glowing  genius,  all  clothed  in  a  diction  simple,  pure,  and  as 
opposite  as  if  the  idea  and  language  had  been  born  together 
from  a  brain  entirely  original  and  independent  in  its  con 
ceptions.  The  spirit  of  the  address,  too,  is  national,  catho 
lic,  patriotic,  and  grandly  American  from  beginning  to  end. 

"  Pryor  is  a  man  of  splendid  parts,  and  Virginia  has 
reason  to  be  proud  of  him."  —  (Richmond,  Va.) 

2B 


370  My  Day 

The  Richmond  Whig  paid  a  handsome  tribute:  — 

"  Roger  A.  Pryor  is  a  man  of  resplendent  genius.  He 
has  high  culture,  too,  and  he  is  far  from  being  only  an  ora 
tor  to  excite  the  passions,  to  win  applause,  and  to  elicit 
admiration.  He  has  comprehensiveness  of  brain,  coupled 
with  an  extraordinary  capacity  for  the  nicest  dialectics.  As 
a  writer  or  speaker,  he  should  be  invited  to  no  second  seat 
anywhere.  He  is  more  like  William  Wirt,  perhaps,  than 
any  other  of  the  gifted  men  of  this  country.  And  the  day 
is  not  distant  when,  if  he  goes  into  politics  again,  he  will 
have  a  national  name  as  familiar  to  the  North  as,  when  he 
was  a  much  younger  man,  it  was  to  the  Southern  people. 

"We  have  no  doubt  he  will  .deliver  a  speech  of  un 
surpassed  beauty  and  eloquence  on  Decoration  Day  in 
Brooklyn." 

These  are  but  representative  quotations.  The 
whole  country  was  ready  to  applaud  the  speech.  It 
was  a  fitting  close  to  the  first  twelve  years  of  our 
life  of  trial  and  probation.  The  sweetest  praise  of 
all  came  in  a  letter  from  America's  great  preacher, 
Richard  S.  Storrs  :  — 

"  80  PIERPONT  STREET, 

"BROOKLYN,  N.Y., 

"May  31,  1877. 
"  MY  DEAR  GENERAL  PRYOR  :  — 

"  I  have  read  with  the  very  greatest  satisfaction  and  pleas 
ure  your  admirable  address  of  last  evening.  I  sympathize, 
in  fullest  measure,  with  the  delighted  enthusiasm  with  which 
my  wife  and  daughter  spoke  of  the  address  after  hearing  it 
last  evening,  and  am  only  more  sorry  than  before  that  my 
unlucky  and  imperative  engagement  with  the  Historical 
Society  Committee  and  Board  forbade  me  to  enjoy  the 
splendid  eloquence  of  utterance  which  they  described  to  me. 


GENERAL  HANCOCK. 


My  Day  371 

I  do  not  see  how  you  could  possibly  have  treated  the  theme 
which  the  occasion  presented  more  delicately  or  more  grandly 
—  with  a  finer  touch,  or  a  more  complete  mastery  of  all  its 
proper  relations  and  suggestions. 

"  It  is  a  great  address,  and  must  have  a  wide  and  great 
effect.  I  only  wish  that  all  the  papers  would  give  it  in  its 
full  extent. 

"  I  am  faithfully  and  with  great  regard, 

"  Yours, 

"  R.  S.  STORRS." 

This  address,  which  has  been  handsomely  bound 
by  the  Brooklyn  committee,  was  followed  by  in 
vitations  all  over  the  country  to  speak  —  even  from 
the  Gospel  Tent.  But,  unhappily,  honor  does  not 
fill  the  basket,  nor  warm  the  body,  nor  pay  the  rent, 
nor  satisfy  the  tax-gatherer.  It  is  a  nice,  nice  thing 
to  have,  —  there's  no  use  denying  it,  —  but  I  think 
my  dear  general  would  have  given  it  all,  every  bit, 
for  one  good,  remunerative  law  case. 

Firmly  fortified,  as  he  persuaded  himself,  against 
ever  again  indulging  in  the  fascinations  of  politics, 
his  admiration  for  his  old  foe  at  Sharpsburg  drew 
him  into  the  Hancock  campaign. 

General  Hancock,  the  hero  of  Gettysburg  and 
Antietam,  was  worth  every  effort  of  every  Democrat 
in  the  country.  He  was  a  superb  man  in  every  re 
spect,  and  we  soon  became  his  ardent  friends.  His 
wife  was  a  most  dear,  beautiful  woman,  whom  I 
learned  to  love.  So  charming  was  their  simple  home 
on  Governors  Island,  I  could  have  brought  my 
self  to  the  point  of  begging  the  government  —  that 
had  taken  so  much  from  me  —  to  grant  me  a  little 


372  My  Day 

corner  to  live  near  them  and  their  two  delightful 
friends,  General  James  Fry  and  his  wife. 

At  General  Hancock's  I  spent  much  time,  and 
while  my  general  consulted  with  him  on  political 
matters,  Mrs.  Hancock  and  I  would,  when  we  could 
escape  from  the  crowd,  sympathize  with  each  other 
as  only  stricken  mothers  can  sympathize.  She  had 
just  lost  her  beautiful  Ada  —  and  small  indeed 
seemed  the  honors  of  this  world  to  her. 

My  general  made  a  fine  speech  for  General  Han 
cock,  which  was  praised  by  the  press  as  generously 
as  the  Decoration  Day  speech.  It  was  understood 
that  he  would  be  Attorney-General  in  case  of  Han 
cock's  election.  We  know  the  result ;  and  I  must 
confess  that  as  the  election  returns  were  reported 
to  us,  I  quite  abandoned  myself  to  disappointment. 
From  my  window  next  morning  I  could  see  another 
Democratic  mourner,  and  in  order  to  signal  to  her 
my  state  of  mind,  I  hung  a  black  shawl  which  I  had 
on  at  the  moment  out  of  the  window.  Early  on 
the  day  after  the  election  I  went  with  my  daughter 
Gordon  across  the  ferry  to  Governor's  Island  to  as 
sure  myself  of  the  welfare  of  my  friends.  It  was 
a  raw  day  in  November,  and  snow  was  falling.  We 
were  the  only  passengers  on  the  boat,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  two  serious-looking  women  who  carried 
a  large  paper  box  between  them.  "  Funeral  flowers," 
suggested  Gordon.  Upon  arriving,  we  walked  up 
to  General  Hancock's  house,  and  at  the  door  per 
ceived  our  fellow-passengers  had  followed  us.  They 
entered  with  us,  and  in  order  to  give  them  the  right 
of  way  in  case  they  were  come  on  appointment,  Gor- 


My  Day  373 

don  and  I  passed  on  to  the  back  parlor,  leaving 
them  in  the  front  room.  Presently  we  heard  Gen 
eral  Hancock  accost  them  courteously,  whereupon 
they  arose  and  explained,  with  much  solemnity,  their 
errand.  "  General,  for  some  time  past  we  have  been 
engaged  in  preparing  a  testimonial  for  you,  with  the 
assistance  of  your  many  admirers.  Here,  sir,  is  an 
autograph  quilt/'  —  unfolding  an  ample  and  fearful 
object,  —  "and  upon  it  there  are  autographs  of  our 
celebrated  men :  General  Grant  is  here,  Mr.  Hayes 
is  here,  Mr.  Garfield  is  here  !  "  —  General  Hancock 
interrupted,  "  But  —  ladies  !  Thanking  you  for  your 
kindness,  let  me  inform  you  I  have  been  defeated  — 
your  offering  was  probably  designed  for  the  elected 
President."  With  warm  vehemence  they  both  pro 
tested  :  "  Oh,  no,  no,  General !  We  are  Democrats  ! 
No,  sir!  No  Republican  is  ever  going  to  sleep 
under  this  quilt  if  we  can  help  it!"  "Ah,  well, 
then,"  said  the  general,  "  I  suppose  I  can  do  noth 
ing  more  than  thank  you.  Yes,  I  can  call  Mrs. 
Hancock.  She  will  say  how  much  we  appreciate 
your  kindness." 

Passing  through  the  back  parlor,  he  espied  us. 
"  Oh,  Mrs.  Pryor  !  Hang  it  all!  "  he  ruefully  ex 
claimed,  as  he  went  aloft.  When  Mrs.  Hancock 
took  charge  of  the  situation,  he  returned  to  us. 

"  And  so  the  general  has  sent  you  over  to  repre 
sent  him  at  the  funeral !  Tell  him  I  am  all  right; 
but  by  the  bye,  how  many  people  came  over  with 
you?" 

"  Those  two,"  indicating  the  party  now  descant 
ing  to  Mrs.  Hancock  upon  the  fine  collection  of 
autographs. 


374 

"  Had  the  result  been  different,  a  fleet  could  not 
have  brought  them  all !  However,  the  canes  are 
coming  in  as  well  as  the  quilts.  We  shall  not  lack 
for  fire-wood  this  winter,  nor  for  covering." 

Mrs.  Hancock  was  soon  relieved  of  her  kind 
friends,  and  both  she  and  the  general  accompanied 
us  on  a  "little  walk"  proposed  by  him.  "I  shall 
not  be  lonely  here,"  he  told  us  ;  "a  new  ship  comes 
in  sight  every  day ;  and  I've  plenty  to  do.  I  must 
have  all  these  leaves  swept  up,  too.  I'm  a  happier 
man  than  Garfield  this  day.  Only,"  he  added  sadly, 
"  I  cannot  reward  my  friends." 

Mrs.  Hancock  opened  the  gate  of  her  little  garden 
and  gathered  a  souvenir  posy  for  Gordon,  and  so  we 
parted  from  the  two  —  so  great,  so  dignified  in  the 
hour  of  defeat. 

When  I  reached  home,  it  was  well  I  had  a  dou 
ceur  for  my  general.  He  held  in  his  hand  the  New 
Tork  Tribune  of  the  day,  and  pointed  an  indignant 
finger  to  a  communication  in  which  the  public  was 
warned  against  the  incendiary  principles  of  "  persons 
in  the  family  of  a  noted  Southern  lawyer,  now  resi 
dent  on  Brooklyn  Heights,  who  had,  in  the  moment 
of  the  nation's  rejoicing,  displayed  in  a  window  a 
piratical  flag,  deep-bordered  and  ominous."  My 
poor  little  jest  with  my  neighbor !  My  humble 
black  shawl ! 

Having  had  an  invitation  to  lunch  with  Mrs. 
Grant  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  next  day,  I  thought 
it  wise,  as  well  as  agreeable,  to  accept,  seeing  I  had 
been  published  as  a  suspicious  character.  I  needed 
Republican  support. 


My  Day  375 

I  told  Mrs.  Grant  of  my  interview  with  General 
Hancock.  "Nice  fellow!  Nice  fellow!"  she  ex 
claimed  with  feeling.  "  You  know  I'm  a  Democrat/' 
she  said.  "  What's  more,  I'm  Secesh,  particularly 
as  the  Republicans  wouldn't  nominate  Ulysses  for 
a  third  term." 

"  Oh,  but,"  said  I,  "  you  mustn't  forget  the  story 
of  the  Fisherman  and  the  Flounder." 

She  had  never  heard  the  story  of  Dame  Isabel, 
the  fisherman's  ambitious  wife,  and  laughed  heart 
ily  over  the  application  to  herself.  "  All  the  same," 
she  protested,  "  I  was  not  unreasonable  —  I  didn't 
wish  to  be  Lord  of  the  spheres  —  only  wife  of  the 
President  of  one  country." 

A  short  time  before  this  the  (Massachusetts) 
Springfield  Republican  was  kind  enough  to  lend  a 
helping  hand,  in  the  guise  of  a  kind  word  to  my 
dear  general,  which  was  quoted  by  the  New  York 
Times,  January  22,  1878.  That  I  should  have 
preserved  it  so  many  years,  fully  asserts  my  apprecia 
tion  of  the  paper's  kindness. 

"  The  New  York  correspondent  of  the  Springfield  (Mas 
sachusetts)  Republican  writes :  '  Roger  Pryor  is  pegging 
away  very  quietly  in  his  law  office,  with  increasing  business, 
though  it  is  not  of  a  very  conspicuous  character  nor  very 
remunerative,  I  imagine,  for  he  does  a  great  deal  of  work 
for  poor  people;  but  he  sticks  so  closely  to  his  business 
that  comparatively  few  people  know  that  he  is  here,  and 
one  of  the  most  characteristic  representatives  of  the  Southern 
statesman.  He  is  in  constant  communication  with  leading 
Southern  men,  and  knows  the  true  inwardness  of  the  South 
ern  feeling  and  policy  in  regard  to  "scaling  "  the  state  debts. 


376  My  Day 

He  is  an  intense  anti-rupudiationist,  and  the  very  thought 
of  a  thing  so  dishonorable  makes  him  shiver  with  rage. 
But  he  is  fully  persuaded  that  the  Southern  people  are  de 
termined  to  cut  down  their  obligations  materially,  and  throw 
overboard  the  carpet-bag  debts  altogether,  if  possible.  He 
thinks  that  when  the  federal  government  required  the 
Southern  people  to  repudiate  their  Confederate  war  debts,  it 
taught  them  a  lesson  in  repudiation  which  they  are  now 
disposed  to  better.  The  public  men  of  the  South  have  not 
done  their  duty  in  frowning  down  this  feeling  and  teaching 
the  people  a  better  policy,  to  say  nothing  of  honesty.  Pryor 
is  the  soul  of  honor,  is  chock  full  of  the  old-fashioned  Vir 
ginia  chivalric  sentiment,  and  altogether  too  high-minded 
and  large-thoughted  to  mix  himself  with  our  local  politics. 
And  all  the  democrats  who  know  him  and  are  not  politi 
cians  agree  that  he  ought  to  be  in  Congress.' ' 

He  was  ardently  opposed  to  repudiation,  and 
has  often  expressed  indignation  that  the  South  was 
required  to  repudiate  its  Confederate  war  debts. 
As  to  his  being  in  Congress,  he  was  offered  a  few 
years  later  the  nomination  by  Tammany,  which 
would  have  meant  sure  election  —  but  how  could  he 
pay  the  assessment  demanded  by  that  organization  ? 
Because  he  could  not,  he  was  compelled  to  decline 
the  honor  of  going  back  to  his  old  seat  from. the 
state  of  his  adoption. 

Mrs.  Grant  did  me  the  honor  to  invite  me  to  a 
reception  she  was  giving  "  to  meet  General  and  Mrs. 
Sheridan."  "  Of  course  you'll  not  go,"  my  hus 
band  suggested.  "  How  can  you  meet  General 
Sheridan  ?  "  "  Why  not  ?  "  I  said.  "  If  he  can 
stand  it,  I  can." 

"A 


GENERAL  SHERIDAN. 


My  Day  377 

When  Mrs.  Grant  presented  me,  the  little  general 
—  he  was  shorter  than  I  —  was  at  first  too  much 
astonished  for  speech.  He  had  hardly  supposed 
when  he  parted  from  me  in  the  house  where,  in 
order  that  he  might  escape  annoyance,  I  had  been 
kept  by  him  literally  in  durance  vile,  that  our  next 
meeting  would  be  in  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  wife 
of  his  commander.  I  gave  him  time  to  realize  all 
this,  and  then  I  asked  him  gently,  "  Do  you  re 
member  me,  General  Sheridan  ?  " 

In  a  moment  both  hands  grasped  mine.  "Indeed, 
indeed  I  do,  dear  lady  —  and  I  am  grateful  to  Mrs. 
Grant  for  giving  me  this  opportunity  to  tell  you 
that  no  man  in  this  country  more  cordially  rejoices 
at  General  Pryor's  success  than  I  do."  He  then 
recalled  Lucy,  and  bantered  her  on  having  grown 
"  taller  .  than  General  Sheridan."  But  the  crowd 
pressed  in,  and  there  was  no  time  for  more  reminis 
cences  of  those  terrible  ten  days  in  Petersburg. 
Mrs.  Grant  called  to  W.  W.  Story  and  bade  him 
take  care  of  me.  "  She  has  never  seen  Ulysse  !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  Keep  her  until  six  o'clock.  He 
promised  me  to  come  then."  Mr.  Story,  with 
his  beautiful  classic  face,  —  nobodycould  be  as  charm 
ing,  —  found  a  great  many  delightful  things  to  say  to 
us,  and  when  our  hostess  claimed  us,  General  Grant 
having  arrived,  he  gallantly  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
heart  and  said  :  "  I  shall  not  forget  you  !  You  and 
your  daughter  are  photographed  here." 

Although  I  had  visited  Mrs.  Grant,  I  had  never 
seen  the  general.  True,  I  had  received  many  em 
phatic  messages  from  him,  but  he  had  then  re- 


378  My  Day 

quired  no  answer.  I  began  to  wonder  what  I 
should  find  to  say  to  him —  to  plan  something  very 
gentle  and  pleasing  in  return  for  his  fire  and  brim 
stone.  I  remembered  that  he  had  once  told  one 
of  my  friends  that  he  often  regretted  he  had  never 
studied  medicine  instead  of  military  tactics.  Clearly, 
if  it  could  be  brought  about  by  a  little  skilful  man 
agement,  no  more  fitting  response  to  the  sulphurous 
remarks  he  had  made  to  me  at  Petersburg  could 
be  imagined  than  something  akin  to  the  healing 
art. 

"  This  is  Ulysse,  Mrs.  Pryor,"  said  Mrs.  Grant, 
and  my  hour  had  come.  He  stood  silent,  throw 
ing,  after  the  manner  of  men,  the  burden  of  conver 
sation  upon  the  woman  before  him.  Every  idea 
forsook  me  !  I  did  not,  like  Heine  in  the  presence 
of  Goethe,  remark  upon  the  excellent  flavor  of  the 
plums  at  Jena,  but  I  found  nothing  better  to  say 
than  "  How  is  it,  General,  that  you  permit  Mrs. 
Grant  to  call  you  Ulysse  ? " 

"  Perhaps  from  imitation,"  he  replied ;  "  I  know 
a  general  whose  wife  calls  him  Roger." 

He  was  so  simple,  so  kind,  that  everything  went 
easily  after  this.  I  could  not  stifle  the  recollection  of 
all  I  had  suffered  at  his  hands,  but  I  had  something 
for  which  to  thank  him.  We  had  been  invited  to 
accompany  him  in  his  private  car  when  he  went  to 
Hartford  to  attend  the  second  marriage  of  Mr.  John 
Russell  Young.  All  my  life  I  have  been  so  malapro 
pos  as  to  welcome  with  tears  the  bride  coming  to  take 
the  place  of  a  wife  whom  I  had  loved,  and  this  time 
the  tears  had  been  on  the  wedding  day  so  abundant 


My  Day  379 

I  was  in  no  condition  to  go  with  General  Grant. 
My  youngest  school-girl  daughter  took  my  place. 
At  every  stop  on  the  road  crowds  collected  to  see 
General  Grant,  and,  with  my  Fanny  on  his  arm,  he 
went  out  on  the  platform  to  return  the  greeting. 
Now  I  could  tell  him  of  her  pride  in  the  occasion. 
"The  pride  was  all  mine,"  he  said;  "an  old  fellow 
with  such  a  beautiful  girl  on  his  arm  had  something 
to  be  proud  of." 

"  There's  a  very  beautiful  girl  near  us,"  I  said  to 
Mrs.  Grant,  "  the  dark-eyed  lady  in  rose  moire." 

"  Why,  that's  Fred's  wife,"  she  answered.  "  Yes, 
she  is  beautiful,  and  we  are  all  proud  of  her ; "  add 
ing,  with  a  humorous  expression,  "  It  has  always  been 
hard  for  me  —  this  admiration  of  beauty." 

cc  Do  you  not  care  for  beauty  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Care 
for  it  ?  I  worship  it !  I  used  to  cry  when  I  was 
a  little  girl  because  I  was  so  ugly.  '  Never  mind, 
Julia,'  my  dear  mother  would  say,  c  you  can  be  my 
good  little  girl.'  I  used  to  wish  I  could  ever  once 
be  called  her  c  pretty  little  girl.'  " 

But  no  face  as  thoroughly  kind  and  good  as  hers 
can  ever  be  plain.  After  all,  is  it  ever  the  prettiest 
faces  that  are  nearest  our  hearts  ?  Having  known 
Mrs.  Grant  for  many  years,  I  can  truly  say  I  have 
seen  no  woman  so  free  from  ostentation  or  affecta 
tion.  Kindness  of  heart,  genuine,  sincere  desire  to 
make  others  happy,  patience  in  adversity,  —  these  are 
the  traits  of  mind,  manner,  and  heart  that  won  for  her 
so  many  warm  friends.  No  other  American  woman 
has  ever  been  so  much  feted  and  honored  as  she. 
Most  of  us  have  had  our  little  hour —  a  part  of  the 


380  My  Day 

world  we  live  in  has  at  one  time  or  another  turned 
upon  us  eyes  of  applauding  affection,  but  she  stood 
beside  her  husband  at  every  foreign  court  in  Europe, 
presiding  on  occasions  when  he  held  private  audience 
with  the  greatest  potentates  of  the  world.  Nothing 
seemed  to  mar  her  perfect  simplicity  —  her  admirable 
self-forgetfulness.  I  was  engaged  one  day  in  taking 
a  frugal  luncheon  —  tea,  toast,  a  dozen  oysters  — 
in  my  tiny  basement  dining-room,  when  Mrs.  Grant's 
card  was  handed  me. 

Running  upstairs  and  saying  to  my  daughter, 
"Mrs.  Grant  must  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  I  was  sur 
prised  to  find  the  general  seated  near  the  door. 
After  the  greeting,  he  said  gravely,  "  I  don't  see  why 
I  can't  have  a  cup  of  tea  as  well  as  Mrs.  Grant." 

"  I  will  send  it  to  you,  General !  The  doorway 
on  the  stair  is  too  low  for  you  to  go  down." 

"It  must  be  pretty  low,"  he  replied;  "I've  a 
mind  to  try  it.  I've  stooped  my  head  for  less." 

We  divided  the  dozen  oysters  among  us,  brewed 
more  tea,  made  more  toast  and  enjoyed  the  meal  — 
the  general  inquiring  kindly  of  news  from  my  hus 
band,  who  was  in  England,  having  been  sent  by 
the  Irish-Americans  to  see  what  could  be  done  for 
O'Donnell,  the  Irish  prisoner. 

After  there  was  no  more  to  be  expected  at  the 
lunch  table,  we  adjourned  to  the  library  and  I  pro 
duced  the  met  bullets  my  boys  had  found  at  Cot 
tage  Farm. 

He  laid  it  on  the  palm  of  his  hand  and  looked 
at  it  long  and  earnestly. 

"  See,  General,"  I  said,  "  the  bullets  are  welded 


My  Day  381 

together  so  as  to  form  a  perfect  horseshoe  —  a 
charm  to  keep  away  witches  and  evil  spirits." 

But  the  general  was  not  interested  in  amulets, 
charms,  or  evil  spirits.  After  regarding  it  silently 
for  a  moment,  he  remarked  :  — 

"  Those  are  minie  balls,  shot  from  rifles  of  equal 
caliber.  And  they  met  precisely  equidistant  to  a 
hair.  This  is  very  interesting,  but  it  is  not  the  only 
one  in  the  world.  I  have  seen  one  other,  picked 
up  at  Vicksburg.  Where  was  this  found,  and  when  ? " 
he  asked,  as  he  handed  the  relic  back  to  me.  "  At 
Petersburg,  possibly.'* 

"Yes,"  I  answered;  "but  not  when  you  were 
shelling  the  city.  It  was  picked  up  on  our  farm 
after  the  last  fight." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his 
eye.  "  Now  look  here,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  go 
about  telling  people  I  shelled  Petersburg." 

A  short  time  before  his  death,  just  before  he  was 
taken  to  Mount  McGregor,  he  dictated  a  note  to 
me,  sending  his  kind  regards  to  my  general,  and 
saying  he  remembered  with  pleasure  his  talk  with 
me  over  a  cup  of  tea. 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  all  this  as  I 
remember  it  now —  his  illness  so  bravely  borne. 
His  death  occurred  not  very  long  afterward.  No 
widow  ever  mourned  more  tenderly  than  did  Mrs. 
Grant.  I  saw  her  only  once  before  she  went  to 
sleep  beside  him  in  the  marble  temple  on  the  river 
side,  and  she  touched  me  by  her  patient  demeanor. 
I  had  a  friend  very  close  to  her  in  her  later  days 
to  whom  she  loved  to  talk  of  her  general,  —  when 


382  My  Day 

they  met,  how  he  proposed  to  her.  They  were 
riding  together,  crossing  a  rough  place  in  the  road. 
Her  horse  stumbled  and  threw  her.  The  general 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  said  he  was  "  glad  to  safe 
guard  her  then,  and  would  be  proud  to  do  so  to  the 
end."  She  said  when  he  came  on  his  wooing  there 
were  members  of  her  family  who  looked  askance  at 
the  undersized  chap.  "  Nothing  of  him  but  eyes 
and  epaulets,"  Longstreet  was  quoted  as  saying 
of  him  one  evening  at  a  tea-and-toast  euchre 
party.  This  seems  to  have  been  the  opinion  of 
some  of  Julia  Dent's  people,  but  not  of  her  far- 
seeing  mother,  to  whom  the  maiden's  dismay  was 
confided.  "Julia,  you  should  marry  that  young 
officer,  say  what  they  will  about  his  clumsiness 
and  awkward  ways  !  He  is  far  above  any  of  the 
young  fellows  who  come  here.  He  will  one  day  be 
President  of  the  United  States." 

My  sisters  at  the  South  would,  in  these  early  days, 
have  resented  these  words  of  appreciation  of  General 
and  Mrs.  Grant.  Not  one  iota  the  less  did  my  alle 
giance  fail  to  my  dear  commander  in  his  modest  tomb, 
guarded  perpetually  night  and  day  by  a  son  of  Vir 
ginia,  because  I  could  perceive  the  tender  side,  the 
heroic  side,  of  a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

IN  October,  1883,  General  Pryor  was  sent 
to  England,  as  counsel  to  defend  Patrick 
O'Donnell,  who  had  been  indicted  for  the  mur 
der  of  James  Carey,  and  was  now  imprisoned  in 
London.  Carey  had  been  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
Irish  "  Invincibles  "  in  1881,  and  was  an  accomplice 
in  the  assassination  of  Mr.  T.  H.  Burke  and  Lord 
Frederick  Cavendish  in  Phoenix  Park.  He  was 
arrested  on  January  13,  1883,  and  turned  queen's 
evidence.  In  order  to  escape  the  vengeance  of  the 
"  Invincibles,"  he  was  secretly  shipped  for  the  Cape 
under  the  name  of  "  Power."  His  plan  of  escape 
was  discovered,  and  he  was  secretly  followed  by 
Patrick  O'Donnell,  who  shot  him  before  the  vessel 
reached  its  destination. 

The  prisoner  was  an  American  citizen,  and  it 
was  thought  proper  by  some  of  his  personal  friends 
to  have  American  counsel  assist  the  local  lawyers  in 
his  defence.  There  was  no  political  signification  in 
General  Pryor's  being  retained.  He  was  aware 
that  objection  would  be  urged  against  his  appear 
ance  in  an  English  court.  There  was  no  prece 
dent  for  his  encouragement.  The  case  of  Judah  P. 
Benjamin  did  not  apply.  Mr.  Benjamin  had  been 
born  a  British  subject  and  had  "  eaten  his  dinners  " 
at  the  Temple.  Only  by  an  act  of  courtesy  on  the 
part  of  the  judge  could  General  Pryor  hope  for  a 

383 


384  My  Day 

hearing.    He  wrote  me,  en  route,  on  board  the  Scythia, 
October  17  :  — 

"  An  Irish  barrister  on  board  has  been  my  most  con 
stant  companion,  —  a  very  intelligent  gentleman  is  he,  — 
and  I  am  assured  by  him  that  I  cannot  be  admitted  to  ap 
pear  in  Court,  the  rule  of  Court  excluding  from  practice 
any  but  members  of  the  Bar.  This  does  not  surprise  me. 
I  can  be  usefully  employed  in  consultation  and  suggestion. 
I  have  industriously  read  in  the  law  of  homicide,  and  on 
those  topics  I  consider  myself  an  expert." 

Meanwhile  the  newspapers  were  interested  in  the 
novel  experiment  of  sending  an  American  lawyer  to 
defend  an  American  citizen  in  England,  and  search 
ing  for  some  hidden  reason  for  the  selection  of  General 
Pryor.  "  Simply  because  of  his  daring  spirit,"  said 
one.  "  He  will  speak  out  as  another  would  hesi 
tate  to  speak."  "  Not  so,"  said  the  editor  of  the 
Irish  World;  "General  Pryor  was  selected  on  ac 
count  of  his  ability  as  a  lawyer.  I  know  of  no 
man  who  can  better  represent  the  American  bar. 
O'Donnell  is  an  American  citizen,  and  General 
Pryor  will  defend  him  as  an  American  citizen."  A 
would-be  wit  in  England  replied,  "  He  was  selected 
because  he  was  prior  to  all  others  —  take  notice  — 
this  is  registered." 

The  New  York  Times,  November  8,  1883,  reminds 
the  public  that  "  an  English  barrister  would  have  no 
standing  in  an  American  court,  except  by  a  stretch 
of  courtesy  which  would  be  rather  violent.  To 
give  audience  in  court  to  a  foreign  counsel  would 
be  a  great  novelty  in  any  country." 


My  Day  385 

The  London  Times  commented  on  the  matter  and 
said,  "  It  is  probable  that  Mr.  Pryor  will  be  permitted 
to  give  the  accused  man  all  possible  assistance  short 
of  taking  a  public  part  in  the  conduct  of  the  case." 
Chief  Justice  Coleridge,  recently  returned  from  this 
country,  where  he  had  been  the  recipient  of  many 
kindly  courtesies,  was  at  once  interested,  and  took 
an  early  opportunity  to  consult  leading  English 
jurists  regarding  certain  amendments  in  the  form  of 
procedure  in  the  courts,  the  admission  of  foreign 
lawyers  being  one  of  the  points  discussed.  A 
correspondent  of  the  Brooklyn  Eagle  visited  my 
husband  in  England  and  wrote  to  the  paper :  — 

"  I  called  on  General  Pryor  this  morning.  He  is  snugly 
housed  at  the  Craven  Hotel  in  Craven  Street,  hard  by 
Charing  Cross  and  within  a  minute's  walk  of  the  American 
Exchange.  I  found  him  immersed  in  papers  relating  to  the 
case,  but  with  sufficient  leisure  to  greet  a  fellow-country 
man  (and  an  old  client  en  passant)  with  his  customary 
courtesy. 

"Legally,  the  general  has  had  a  hard  time  of  it  here, — 
of  which  more  anon,  —  but  socially  he  has  been  the  recipi 
ent  of  extraordinary  marks  of  English  favor.  His  romantic 
career  as  a  soldier  and  as  a  lawyer  is  known  to  everybody, 
and  invitations  to  club  breakfasts  and  the  dinner-tables  of 
great  men  have  poured  in  upon  him.  So  far,  he  has  ac 
cepted  none  of  these,  having  been  entirely  preoccupied  by 
the  preparation  of  O'Donnell's  defence,  which,  as  I  under 
stand  from  other  sources,  is  largely  General  Pryor's.  Origi 
nally  it  was  understood  that  the  trial  should  occur  in  October, 
but  it  has  been  postponed  again  and  again,  and  the  general's 
great  regret  is  that  he  was  not  able  to  get  back  to  vote. 

"  Speaking  to   me  on   this  subject  to-day,  a  prominent 

2C 


386  My  Day 

member  of  the  English  bar  said  :  '  My  dear  fellow,  General 
Pryor  is  not  an  exception  to  the  rule.  He  is  simply  a  promi 
nent  instance  of  its  operation.  You  may  not  be  aware 
that  neither  a  Scotch  nor  an  Irish  barrister  is  allowed  to 
plead  in  English  courts.  If  we  were  to  make  any  excep 
tion  at  all,  it  would  certainly  be  made  in  favor  of  General 
Pryor,  who  is  known  to  and  liked  by  us  all.' 

u '  But,'  I  asked,  c  how  about  his  appearance  in  court  as 
a  matter  of  courtesy  ? ' 

"  '  There  is  no  such  thing  possible,  and  not  even  the 
judge  has  power  to  extend  it.  The  Benchers  of  the  Inns 
are  the  authority,  and  even  the  objection  of  a  single  bar 
rister  would  be  fatal.'  ' 

The  English  papers  were,  as  a  class,  against  his 
appearance.  The  St.  James  Gazette  had  long  articles 
on  the  subject,  in  one  of  which  the  question  is  thus 
settled :  — 

"  The  case  of  American  counsel  claiming  audience  in  a 
criminal  trial  arousing  passionate  political  interest  in  cer 
tain  circles  is  admirably  calculated  to  demonstrate  the  ex 
cellence  of  the  rule  which  the  Irish-Americans  were  anxious 
to  have  broken, —  as  they  supposed  in  their  interests.  The 
only  motive  which  O'Donnell  could  have  for  wishing  (if  he 
does  wish  it)  to  be  heard  through  foreign  counsel  would  be 
that  that  counsel  should  say  or  do  something  which  Eng 
lish  counsel  cannot  say  or  do.  For,  however  great  General 
Pryor's  fame  may  be  in  his  own  country,  we  have  no  reason 
to  suppose  that  he  is  gifted  with  eloquence  or  persuasive 
powers  so  remarkable  that  he  might  be  relied  upon  to 
move  the  hearts  of  an  Old  Bailey  jury  impervious  to  the 
tried  abilities  of  Mr.  Charles  Russell  and  the  earnest  flu 
ency  of  Mr.  A.  M.  Sullivan.  Let  us  consider,  then,  what 
it  is  which  these  gentlemen  could  not  do,  and  General 


My  Day  387 

Pryor,  if  he  got  the  chance,  could  do.  The  principal 
thing  is  that  he  could  more  or  less  defy  the  judge,  and 
instigate  the  jury  to  override  the  law  or  take  a  wrong  view 
of  the  evidence." 

The  Gazette  little  knew  the  manner  of  man  under 
discussion.  "  Defy  the  law,"  indeed !  He  wrote 
me  October  25  :  — 

"  As  I  have  informed  you,  a  rule  of  the  Bar  excludes 
any  but  an  English  barrister  from  appearing  professionally 
in  the  courts.  I  will  not  allow  a  motion  to  be  made  that 
I  be  heard  in  the  case,  for  I  do  not  choose  to  solicit  a 
favor,  nor  to  incur  the  hazard  of  a  rebuff,  nor  to  expose  the 
American  Bar  to  the  incivility  which  would  be  involved  in 
rejecting  such  an  application  from  one  of  its  members.  My 
presence,  however,  is  not  without  good  effect,  nor  have  my 
services  been  unimportant.  Indeed,  I  may  say  to  you  that 
already  I  have  rendered  inestimable  service  to  my  client." 

Meanwhile  Sir  Charles  Russell,  afterward  Lord 
Chief  Justice  of  England,  Mr.  Sullivan  and  Mr. 
Guy,  of  the  British  bar,  and  Roger  A.  Pryor,  of  the 
American  bar,  worked  faithfully,  earnestly,  and  zeal 
ously,  step  by  step,  for  the  unfortunate  prisoner. 
O'Donnell  was  a  poor,  ignorant  man,  who  could  not 
write  his  own  name.  In  this  country  he  had  been  a 
teamster  in  the  Federal  army  during  the  Civil  War. 
For  a  long  time  his  countryman  who  had  come  so 
far  to  help  him  was  not  allowed  to  see  him.  Finally, 
this  much  was  granted  —  and  of  great  comfort  to  the 
doomed  man  were  the  sympathetic  visits  of  my 
tender-hearted  husband.  His  trial  ended  as  every 
body  knew  it  must. 


388  My  Day 

General  Pryor  felt  keenly  the  embarrassment  of 
his  position,  but  before  he  left  England  nearly  every 
club  was  open  to  him,  and  many  dinners  given  in 
his  honor  by  Lord  Russell,  members  of  the  bar, 
Mr.  Justin  McCarthy  and  other  literary  men  in 
London. 

"  At  the  royal  geographical  dinner,"  he  writes,  u  I  sat 
beside  Lord  Houghton,  and  opposite  Lord  Aberdeen,  with 
both  of  whom  I  had  pleasant  talk.  Other  eminent  men 
were  there.  Invitations  followed  which  I  must  decline,  in 
finitely  to  my  regret,  but  I  cannot  neglect  the  business  on 
which  I  came.  A  dinner  is  offered  me  in  Dublin.  Last 
evening,  however,  I  was  glad  to  dine  with  Charles  Russell, 
Q.C.,  and  Sunday  I  drive  with  him  to  Richmond.  He  pays 
me  every  possible  attention,  and  I  can  see  relies  upon  me 
in  the  conduct  of  the  case.  I  live  as  retired  as  possible.  My 
clients  cannot  suspect  me  of  yielding  to  British  blandish 
ments  !  I  have  had  interesting  interviews  with  my  poor 
client,  in  compliance  with  his  urgent  entreaty.  He  was 
very  grateful  to  me  and  cheered  by  my  presence." 

He  received  marked  kindness  from  Dr.  Rae,  the 
Arctic  explorer,  who  had  made  important  discoveries 
in  King  William's  Land  and  found  traces  of  Sir 
John  Franklin ;  also  in  1864  had  made  a  telegraphic 
survey  across  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Dr.  Rae  gave 
several  delightful  dinners  to  my  husband,  inviting 
him  to  meet  Huxley,  Sir  John  Lubbock,  and  sundry 
notable  chemists  and  inventors.  "  Come  to  us  Sat 
urday  at  half-past  seven,"  he  wrote  from  Kensington, 
"  a  handsome  [sic]  should  bring  you  in  a  little  over 
half  an  hour  if  the  beast  is  good."  At  Dr.  Rae's  he 
met  Mathilde  Blind,  "  a  brilliant  woman,  a  Jewess  ; 


My  Day  389 

and  Justin  McCarthy,  a  shy,  silent  man,  spectacled 
and  quite  like  a  professor."  Dining  at  the  Cafe 
Royal,  "  who  should  come  in  and  sit  opposite  to  us 
but  the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts  and  her  spouse. 
She  is  surprisingly  juvenile  in  appearance  —  not  at  all 
as  she  has  been  represented.  Her  voice  is  quite 
girlish,  and  she  moves  with  wonderful  agility/'  etc. 

He  also  met  Miss  Shaw,  who  was  conducting  a 
bevy  of  American  girls  for  a  tour  of  European 
travel.  Some  contretemps  arose  which  made  her 
grateful  for  his  conduct  and  assistance.  The  par 
ticular  young  lady  whom  he  had  the  honor  of  es 
corting  and  assisting  was  Miss  Stanton.  It  suddenly 
occurred  to  him  that  this  might  be  the  daughter  of 
his  old  enemy,  Edwin  M.  Stanton.  The  young 
lady  innocently  answered  his  question  affirmatively. 
She  had  been  the  identical  baby  girl  that,  eighteen 
years  before,  Stanton  had  held  in  his  arms  as  he  de 
clared,  "  Pryor  shall  be  hanged ! "  My  general 
might  have  done  several  things:  he  might  have  left 
her  alone  in  a  London  street  to  the  mercy  of  ruffians; 
he  might  have  used,  in  a  dark  corner,  the  tiny  pistol 
he  carried ;  he  might  have  drowned  her  in  the 
Thames ;  he  might  have  surprised  her  by  increased 
devotion  and  care  for  her  comfort.  He  chose  the 
last,  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  her  unconscious 
head! 

Before  he  returned  he  visited  places  peculiarly  in 
teresting  to  him  as  a  scholar,  all  of  which  he  de 
scribed  to  me  charmingly.  As  far  as  in  him  lay  he 
trod  the  paths,  so  sacred  to  him,  once  trod  by  the 
lumbering  feet  of  the  one  Englishman  he  adores 


390  My  Day 

above  all  others,  Dr.  Sam  Johnson :  sitting  at  the 
desk  where  he  wrote  his  dictionary  and  marvelling 
at  the  meanness  of  the  desk,  looking  out  of  his  win 
dows,  walking  with  him  and  with  Boswell  along  the 
familiar  streets.  He  also  stood  on  the  spot  where 
Blackstone  delivered  his  immortal  lectures,  and  on 
the  very  spot  where  Latimer  and  Cranmer  suffered,  — 
the  students  at  that  moment  playing  near  it  a  vigor 
ous  game  of  football,  —  all  this,  and  much  more, 
so  natural  in  a  scholar  visiting  for  the  first  time  the 
London  of  which  he  knew  every  spot  haunted  by 
the  great  spirits  of  the  literary  world. 

After  he  returned  home,  he  received  a  long  letter 
from  Lord  Russell,  telling  him  that  he  (Russell)  had 
been  sharply  criticised  for  the  conduct  of  O'Donnell's 
case,  and  accused  of  having  managed  it  in  a  negli 
gent  and  lukewarm  manner.  He  wished  his  Ameri 
can  colleague's  candid  opinion  on  the  subject,  and 
also  requested  his  photograph,  adding,  "  I  am  send 
ing  you  mine." 

General  Pryor  answered  him  cordially  and  was 
glad  he  could  say,  "  I  consider  that  you  defended 
O'Donnell  with  the  utmost  zeal  and  enthusiasm, 
and  with  consummate  skill !  "  It  seems  the  queen's 
counsel  was  sensitive  as  well  as  able.  He  was 
afterwards  made  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE  circle  that  finally  gathered  around  the 
fireside  in  the  little  library  at  157  Willow 
Street  was  long  remembered  by  some  of  the 
men  who  made  it  brilliant.  John  G.  Saxe,  whom  we 
had  known  in  Washington,  was  one  of  these  men. 
Thither  also  came  the  Southern  author,  William 
Gilmore  Simms.  I  remember  one  evening  spent  in 
our  tiny  library  with  Mr.  Simms,  John  R.Thompson, 
and  General  Charles  Jones,  when  the  trio  of  literary 
men  told  stories,  —  not  war  stories,  —  ghost  stories. 
Mr.  Thompson  recalled  a  ghost  I  had  known  of 
myself  and  feared  when  a  child,  —  the  ghost  of  the 
University  of  Virginia  that  announced  its  coming 
by  a  sudden  wind  bursting  open  the  doors,  passed 
through  the  room,  and  walked  off  across  the  lawn  to 
the  mountains.  His  deep  foot-tracks  could  be  dis 
cerned  in  the  soft  sod,  and  with  snow  on  the  ground 
these  deep  tracks  could  be  seen  to  grow  under  his 
invisible  feet  as  he  strode  onward.  Well  do  I  re 
member  nights  when  this  ghost  "walked."  But 
General  Jones  had  a  better  story.  His  was  a  visi 
ble  ghost,  an  old  lady,  whose  contested  will  he  was 
reading  one  night,  who  appeared  at  the  challenged 
point,  looked  at  him  solemnly,  and  then  vanished  ! 
Mr.  Simms  positively  declined  to  mention  his  own 
private  ghost  after  these  two  thrilling  visitations. 
We  had  an  interesting  visit  from  Percy  Greg,  son 

391 


392  My  Day 

of  the  English  author.  Mr.  Greg  brought  as  a  pres 
ent  to  my  general  the  proof-sheets  of  his  father's 
"  Warnings  of  Cassandra,"  in  which  my  husband  dis 
covered  an  error ;  and  according  to  his  lifelong  belief 
that  all  errors  in  the  English  language  are  crimes 
which  must  be  corrected,  he  proceeded  to  enlighten 
Mr.  Greg.  "  Your  father  has  made  a  mistake  —  a 
slight  one  —  which  he  can  correct  in  the  next  edi 
tion.  He  uses  the  word  ( internecine '  where  he 
clearly  means  c  intestine.' '  Our  guest  dropped  his 
under  jaw,  stared,  and  reddened.  An  American  cor 
recting  an  Englishman's  English  !  He  had,  I  know, 
respect  for  my  husband's  courage,  but  he  had  not 
expected  rebel  guns  to  be  turned  on  him  in  this 
manner. 

"  This  was  a  length,  I  trow, 
A  rebel's  daring  could  not  go," 

if  I  may  paraphrase  Gilbert  in  the  Bab  Ballads  ! 

But  we  had  more  eminent  guests  than  these,  —  the 
divines  of  the  City  of  Churches,  and  her  learned 
judges.  Foremost  and  most  cordial  of  all  were  the 
old  generals  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  : 
General  Hancock,  General  James  Fry,  General 
Slocum,  General  Grant,  General  Tracy  —  a  some 
time  foe  in  field  and  forum  ;  and  later  General  Sher 
man,  General  Fitz-John  Porter,  General  Butterfield, 
and  General  McClellan  were  added  to  our  list  of 
friends. 

Among  my  husband's  earliest  clients  was  General 
Benjamin  F.  Butler,  who  employed  him  to  defend 
his  son-in-law,  Hon.  Adelbert  Ames,  when  the 
latter  was  impeached  by  the  state  of  Mississippi. 


My  Day  393 

In  the  families  of  these  distinguished  men  we 
soon  found  friends,  and  to  these  were  added  many 
others.  Brooklyn  was  noted  for  its  refined  and 
cultivated  society,  and  on  Brooklyn  Heights  many 
of  its  most  prominent  citizens  lived,  men  whose 
names  are  not  yet  forgotten  :  Professor  and  Mrs. 
Eaton,  our  first  and  dearest  friends  ;  Mr.  Abbot 
Low,  —  whose  splendid  monument  is  the  library  of 
Columbia  University,  —  his  charming  wife  and  daugh 
ters  and  his  accomplished  sons,  one  of  whom  was 
late  President  of  Columbia  University  and  mayor  of 
New  York ;  Dr.  Henry  van  Dyke,  whose  name  is 
famous  in  two  continents  as  scholar,  writer,  and 
orator  of  high  distinction  ;  John  Roebling,  the  brill 
iant  engineer,  architect,  and  builder  of  the  great 
Brooklyn  Bridge,  whose  beautiful  wife  was  sister  of 
our  friend,  General  Warren  ;  the  Hon.  S.  B.  Chitten- 
den  and  his  wife,  a  grand  dame  of  the  old  school ; 
the  family  of  our  minister  to  the  Court  of  St. 
James,  Mr.  Pierrepont;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alanson 
Trask,  foremost  in  all  good  works ;  Mr.  Henry 
K.  Sheldon,  who  gave  artistic  musicals ;  Mrs.  John 
Bullard,  the  patroness  of  art  and  leader  in  society ; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allen,  who  gave  a  lovely  daughter  to 
be  the  wife  of  Dr.  Holbrook  Curtis ;  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
George  L.  Nichols,  with  a  most  dear  and  charming 
family  of  sons  and  daughters ;  one  known  to  the 
world  to-day  —  at  home  and  abroad  —  as  Katrina 
Trask,  the  brilliant  author,  poet,  and  accomplished 
chatelaine;  Mrs.  Alice  Morse  Earle,  now  one  of 
America's  charming  writers ;  Mrs.  Louise  Chandler 
Moulton ;  and  Grace  Denio  Litchfield,  then  a  beautiful 


394 

young  lady,  and  now  a  gifted  author.  These  are  but  a 
representative  few  of  the  interesting  men  and  women 
who  were  kind  enough  to  visit  us.  A  multitude  of 
lovely  young  girls  gathered  around  my  school-girl 
daughters  ;  and  when  all  the  army  of  men  turned  out 
on  New  Year's  Day  to  observe  —  as  they  did  reli 
giously  —  the  old-time  custom  of  making  calls,  the 
little  house  on  Willow  Street  showed  symptoms 
of  bursting ! 

All  of  these  were  Northern  people,  and  many  of 
them  from  New  England,  —  the  New  England  we 
had  been  taught  to  regard  as  the  stronghold  of  our 
enemies.  There  was  not  a  Southern-born  man  or 
woman  among  them.  We  had  always  considered 
the  New  Englander  upright,  narrow,  and  thorny ! 
Transplanted  to  Brooklyn,  we  found  him  upright 
indeed,  but  as  harmless  as  a  thornless  rose. 

Many  of  these  delightful  people  in  time  crossed 
the  East  River  and  pitched  their  tents  in  New  York 
—  and  many  have  crossed  the  river  that  flows  close 
to  the  feet  of  all  of  us ;  and  so  I  imagine  society  in 
what  is  now  known  as  the  Borough  of  Brooklyn  has 
formed  new  systems  revolving  around  new  suns. 
I  sometimes  read  the  old  names  in  the  society 
columns  of  the  Brooklyn  journals,  and  the  old 
pictures  rise  before  me,  delightful  and  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

The  time  had  now  come,  however,  when  it  was 
imperative  for  General  Pryor  to  live  in  New  York, 
the  city  where  he  had  commenced  his  work  and 
had  always  kept  his  office.  The  first  of  May  found 
us  in  a  small  house  on  33 d  Street, 


My  Day  395 

A  letter  written  by  me  in  the  following  August 
gives  my  opinion  of  New  York  as  a  summer  resort. 

"  MY  DEAR  AGNES  :  — 

"  The  colonel  declares  he  means  to  bring  you  to  New 
York,  and  wishes  me  to  give  you  my  own  impressions  of 
this  place.  Well,  all  I  have  to  say  is  '  pray  that  your 
flight  be  not  in  summer ! '  Anything  like  the  heat  and 
desolation  of  this  town  in  summer  cannot  be  imagined. 
Everybody  leaves  it.  I  am  living  in  a  tiny  house  in  the 
heart  of  the  city  —  and  a  very  hard  heart  it  is!  On  one 
side  of  me  is  the  rear  of  a  great  hotel,  its  kitchens  and  ser 
vants'  offices  overlooking  me.  Really,  I  had  as  soon  hear 
shrieking  shells  as  the  clatter  they  make  with  their  pots 
and  pans.  Behind  me  is  a  sash  and  blind  factory  yielding 
dust  and  noise  unspeakable.  On  the  other  side  a  dreadful 
man  has  planted  a  garden,  wherein  he  has  spread  an  awning, 
and  there  he  holds  his  revels  —  his  card  and  wine  parties. 
Of  course  I  can  but  listen  to  him  more  than  half  the  sti 
fling  hot  nights,  but  should  I  remonstrate,  it  is  not  improb 
able  he  might  inform  me  that  this  is  a  free  country,  which 
I  doubt.  Lucy  and  Fanny  fortunately  are  far  away  in 
Virginia,  and  so  I  am  spared  the  added  discomfort  of 
suffering  through  their  nerves. 

a  This  town  is  as  completely  metamorphosed  in  summer 
as  if  it  had  changed  places  with  some  struggling,  dusty 
manufacturing  city,  —  building  and  digging  going  on 
everywhere;  ugly  dirt-carts,  instead  of  flower-crowned 
ladies  in  landaus,  passing  through  the  dusty  streets.  You 
might,  perhaps  with  reason,  suggest  that  I  seem  to  have 
leisure, —  that  this  is  a  fine  opportunity  to  read  and  improve 
my  mind.  Yes,  I  know,  but  somehow  I  have  lost  all  de 
sire  to  improve  my  mind  !  My  present  inclination  is  to 
gratify  the  mind  I  already  have, — go  somewhere,  see  some 
thing,  hear  some  really  fine  music  ! 


396  My  Day 

"  Here  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  except  unhappy  fellow- 
mortals  panting  beneath  the  burden  of  city  existence  ;  street 
arabs  making  free  with  the  front  doorstep  and  improvising 
tables  for  their  greasy  luncheons ;  pathetic  organ-grinders 
who  lift  melancholy  eyes  for  recognition  and  reward,  after 
harrowing  the  soul  with  despairing  strains  —  'Miserere,' 
c  Ah,  I  have  sighed  to  rest  me,'  and  such ;  unmuzzled 
little  animals  in  mortal  terror  of  the  dog-catcher;  tired, 
patient  horses  who  know  not  their  own  strength,  and 
quietly  obey  that  other  creature  with  so  much  less  power 
and  so  much  more  selfishness.  All  this  is  not  cheerful  to 
the  looker-out,  and  having  seen  it  once,  I  look  no  more. 
But  I  have  lately  made  a  discovery.  My  upper-story 
window  presents  an  interesting  and  instructive  landscape. 
There  is  a  low-roofed  stable  between  the  hotel  and  the 
factory.  I  can  look  over  a  great  flat  tin  roof  where  snowy 
garments  are  always  drying,  and  upon  which,  like  <•  Little 
Dorritt's '  lover,  I  can  gaze  '  until  I  'most  think  they 
wuz  groves.'  Moreover,  there  is  a  happy  woman  who 
comes  up  through  a  trap-door  and  walks  much  under  the 
shadow  of  those  groves.  How  do  I  know  she  is  happy? 
Partly  by  the  patter  of  her  busy  feet,  partly  by  the  bit  of 
song  that  floats  to  me  c  whiles.'  But  chiefly  because  I 
have  actually  found  out  all  about  her  while  I  have  leaned 
idly  out  of  my  window.  First,  she  is  very  good  —  this 
dweller  beneath  the  flat  roof. 

"  On  Sunday  evenings  she  tunes  up  a  little  melodeon  in 
her  regions  below,  and  sings  straight  through  the  Moody 
and  Sankey  hymn-book.  Nor  is  this  all.  For  a  time  I 
could  not  discover  whether  she  was  wife,  maid,  or  mother, 
and  I  felt  much  anxious  solicitude  in  her  behalf.  But  lately 
she  has  brought  up  to  the  roof  in  the  evenings  a  small 
rocking-chair  of  the  Mayflower  pattern,  some  crochet  or  tat 
ting  ;  and  a  great  cat  with  an  enormous  upright  tail  has  fol 
lowed  her,  and  rubbed  himself  comfortably  against  her  knees. 


My  Day  397 

"She  is  a  blessed  little  old  maid  —  that's  just  what  she 
is  !  But  the  cat  is  not  the  only  '  follower.'  A  wholesome- 
looking  Englishman  (side-whiskers,  fresh  complexion,  china 
aster  in  buttonhole)  comes  now  and  then.  The  little  May 
flower  chair  rocks  a  bit  more  nervously,  the  cat  is  over 
whelmed  with  surprise  by  receiving  a  slight  push  from  the 
tidy  slipper,  the  tatting  takes  on  new  energy,  and  I  see  — 
well,  now,  you  surely  don't  expect  me  to  tell  you  what  I 
see  ?  Nothing  very  dreadful  nor  altogether  unusual  in  the 
sphere  of  my  happy  woman  and  the  British  coachman,  who 
has  her  in  his  l  heye '  and  is  surely  going  to  have  her  in  his 
'ome  by  and  by. 

u  But  when  my  tired  general  comes  home  to  me  and 
keenly  scans  my  face  to  discover  whether  I  am  pining  for 
the  pines  or  sighing  for  the  sea,  I  cannot  disgrace  myself 
in  his  eyes  by  revealing  my  low  interest  in  my  happy 
woman.  Least  of  all  reveal  my  own  loneliness  !  I  show 
him  the  lovely  little  window-box  where  I  have  a  climbing 
nasturtium,  a  morning-glory,  and  a  curious  strong  vine  that 
has  prehensile  fingers  at  the  end  of  every  cluster  of  leaves. 
I  show  him  the  curious  ways  of  these  strong  climbers  — 
how  the  nasturtium  has  no  tendrils,  but  a  great  fleshy  stalk 
to  be  supported,  and  so  when  it  grows  too  tall  to  stand 
alone,  it  puts  forth  at  intervals  a  leaf  with  a  mission ;  as 
soon  as  this  leaf  feels  the  touch  of  the  string,  it  contracts 
and  wraps  its  brittle  stalk  thrice  around  it  —  in  and  out,  as 
you  would  wind  your  ball  of  silk.  And  how  the  great  long 
feelers  of  the  morning-glory  behave  just  like  ourselves. 
They  look  abroad  for  something  to  lean  upon,  waving  rest 
lessly  to  and  fro.  Finding  nothing,  they  deliberately  turn 
and  lean  upon  themselves  ! 

"  My  general  pities  me  because  the  square  of  blue  sky 
into  which  I  am  always  looking  is  so  small.  But  I  tell 
him  of  all  the  glories  and  marvels  I  have  seen  there,  be 
tween  the  high  stone  dwellings  that  shut  it  in  :  how  a  rain- 


398  My  Day 

bow  spanned  it  once ;  how  my  Lady  Moon  looks  down  in 
some  of  her  phases  and  tells  me  of  her  hard  life  of  hopeless 
bondage  —  while  mine  is  but  for  a  little  time ;  how  the 
Pleiades  have  been  seen  in  my  small  heaven  and  bound  me 
with  sweetest  influences  ;  how  my  friend,  the  Great  Bear, 
straddles  across  for  a  look  at  me,  and  a  reminder  that  he 
knows  me  very  well,  and  knew  generations  of  my  fathers 
long  before  the  twenty-three  generations  that  I  know  of 
myself. 

u  And  I  have  still  more  to  tell  him  of  the  lovely  time  I 
am  having  in  my  room  —  how  I  have  watched  a  fairy 
castle  grow  against  my  sky.  How  I  saw  at  first  a  derrick 
spring  aloft,  and  then  many  tiny  spirits  of  the  air  build 
away  on  a  square  foundation ;  how  they  made  port-holes 
in  the  top  looking  every  way  for  the  Mafia  or  any  other 
enemy,  and  over  this  threw  arches  and  fairy  adornment  of 
cunning  work  in  white  marble ;  how  they  threw  up  a 
rocket  then  and  hung  out  electric  lights,  and  I  supposed 
their  work  was  over  and  their  airy  castle  finished,  but  they 
then  mounted  a  great  calcium  light  to  let  the  incoming 
ships  from  foreign  lands  know  our  eye  is  upon  them ;  how 
they  built  another  and  still  another  story  to  their  castle  — 
four  in  all,  and  were  still  building.  And  I  call  his  attention 
to  a  strange  bird  coming  regularly  at  the  same  hour  in 
the  evening,  sailing  (with  c  a  raucous  voice ')  across  our 
dwelling  and  into  my  own  little  plantation  in  the  sky. 
He  is  of  the  species  vulgarly  called  c  Bat '  —  and  so  I 
named  him  our  Fledermaus.  At  precisely  the  same  hour 
every  morning  has  he  come  back  again,  screaming  tri 
umphantly,  or  putting  on  a  bold  front  to  account  to  his 
mate  in  Central  Park  how  he  had  spent  the  night  in  the 
Long  Island  marshes.  The  first  time  the  flashlight  was 
kindled  in  my  castle  in  the  air  and  its  searching  glance  fell 
upon  the  recreant  Fledermaus,  he  wheeled  around  and  made 
his  circuit  in  another  direction,  and  we  shall  hear  his  rau 
cous  voice  no  more  ! 


My  Day  399 

"  Which  is  additional  proof  of  what  we  know  already  : 
1  Conscience  makes  cowards  of  us  all.'  Or  perhaps  it  is 
only  that  no  self-respecting  Fledermaus  can  be  expected  to 
countenance  flashlights  at  hours  when  sensitive  folk  are 
coming  home  in  the  morning. 

"  My  general  listens  respectfully  while  I  go  through  all 
this.  'Evidently  "stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make,"'  is 
his  comment.  '  Here  are  you  interested  in  botany,  as 
tronomy,  and  in  building  the  Madison  Square  Garden.' 
c  Garden  !  Do  stone  walls  a  garden  make  ? '  '  Here  in 
New  York  they  do,'  he  tells  me  ;  '  a  great,  hot  theatre  is  to  be 
called  a  garden  and  crowned  by  Diana  of  the  Ephesians  ! 
St.  Gaudens  is  making  the  goddess.  But  you'll  not  need 
gardens  or  goddesses  to  make  you  happy  !  Ah  !  What  a 
wonderful  woman  you  are  —  so  content,  so  cheery  in  spite 
of  all  our  privations.'  Which  shows  what  poor  crea 
tures  men  are,  as  far  as  discernment  goes,  regarding  the 
ways  of  women ;  for  my  dear,  oh,  my  dear !  —  a  very 
lonely,  homesick,  heartsick  body  is 

"  Your  devoted 

"SARA  A.  PRYOR. 

"  P.S.  —  I  am  a  wretch —  I  know  I  am  —  to  end  my  letter 
with  a  howl.  But  an  organ-man  under  my  window  is 
grinding  away  at  '  Home,  Sweet  Home.'  He  must  be 
driven  away  or  I  perish!  There  he  goes  again — 'The 
Old  Folks  at  Home ' !  I  must  put  both  my  sofa  pillows 
over  my  ears  !  Dearly,  S.  A.  P." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

EARLY  in  the  winter  I  had  a  visit  from  a  beau 
tiful  young  lady,  an  orphan  daughter  of  a 
rear  admiral  of  whom  I  had  known  in  former 
days.  She  had  found  herself  temporarily  embar 
rassed,  and  had  planned  an  afternoon  of  music  and 
reading,  was  about  to  send  out  some  cards,  and 
wished  me  to  be  one  of  her  patronesses.  I  gladly 
consented,  and  on  the  afternoon  designated,  went 
to  her  boarding-house  near  the  Park,  her  landlady 
having  kindly  given  her  rooms  for  the  entertain 
ment.  I  was  early,  and  as  nobody  appeared  I 
pressed  the  negro  boy  at  the  door  into  my  service, 
and  placed  some  palms  I  found  at  hand,  ar 
ranged  the  desk,  and  awaited  the  reader  and  her 
audience.  Presently  Bishop  Potter  entered,  carry 
ing  the  bag  which  held  his  robe,  on  his  way,  perhaps, 
to  christen  a  baby.  I  knew  him  "  by  sight,"  and 
ventured  to  introduce  myself,  simply  as  "  Mrs. 
Pryor,"  explaining  my  presence.  He  told  me  of 
his  interest  in  the  occasion  and  in  the  young  lady 
who  was  to  read,  adding,  "  I  know  little  of  her 
qualification  for  her  task,  but  I  did  know  her  father." 
Presently  who  should  walk  in,  tall,  grim,  and  unat 
tended,  but  General  Sherman !  The  bishop  in 
stantly  presented  me  as  Mrs.  General  Roger  A. 
Pryor.  I  was  so  wrought  upon,  finding  myself  in 
this  awful  presence,  that  I  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  General 

400 


My  Day  401 

Sherman  !  Never  did  I  think  I  should  find  myself 
in  the  same  boat  with  you  I  " 

He  looked  at  me  gravely  a  moment,  and  said : 
"  Now  see  here  !  I'm  not  as  black  as  I  am  painted." 
—  "And  I,"  said  the  bishop,  "am  sorry,  sorry,  to 
find  the  wife  of  my  good  friend,  the  general,  willing 
to  remember  things  past  and  gone  forever/' 

"  Well,"  said  General  Sherman,  "  if  she  doesn't  for 
bid  me  the  house,  I  should  like  to  call  on  General 
Pryor  !  I'm  told  they  have  the  cosiest  little  home 
in  New  York." 

He  did  call,  and  so  did  his  charming  daughter, 
Rachel,  whom  I  liked,  and  hope  I  made  my  friend. 

As  to  the  "  reading  "  —  Mrs.  Botta,  Mrs.  Bettner, 
the  two  great  ones  and  my  own  small  self  were  the 
major  part  of  the  audience,  —  fit  though  few, —  but 
I  must  confess  that  no  occasion  could  have  been  to 
me  fraught  with  more  interest,  more  significance. 
My  thoughts  rushed  back  to  the  time  when  the  man 
before  me  had  marched  through  an  unhappy  South 
ern  state  without  even  a  wheelbarrow  to  intercept 
his  way,  when  all  laws  of  civilized  warfare  were  sent 
to  the  winds,  and  the  women  and  children,  in  a  belt 
sixty  miles  wide,  were  plundered  and  driven  from 
their  homes ;  returning,  after  he  had  passed,  to  weep 
over  the  blackened  plains  he  left  behind  him.  In 
his  official  report  of  his  operations  in  Georgia  he 
said  :  "  We  consumed  the  corn  and  fodder  in  the 
region  thirty  miles  on  either  side,  from  Atlanta  to 
Savannah,  also  the  sweet  potatoes,  hogs,  sheep,  and 
poultry,  and  carried  off  more  than  ten  thousand 
horses  and  mules.  I  estimated  the  damage  done  to 


4o2  My  Day 

the  state  of  Georgia  at  one  hundred  millions  of  dol 
lars,  at  least  twenty  millions  of  which  inured  to  our 
benefit,  and  the  remainder  was  simply  waste  and 
destruction/'1  But  the  blame  for  this  pillage  must 
be  placed  higher  than  the  shoulders  of  General 
Sherman. 

On  December  18,  1863,  Major-general  Halleck 
thus  instructed  him  :  "  Should  you  capture  Charles 
ton,  I  hope  by  some  accident  the  place  may  be  de 
stroyed,  and  if  a  little  salt  should  be  sown  on  the 
site,  it  might  prevent  the  growth  of  future  crops  of 
nullification  and  treason." 

Sherman  replied  December  24,  1863  :  — 

"I  will  bear  in  mind  your  hint  as  to  Charleston,  and  do 
not  think  c  salt '  will  be  necessary.  When  I  move,  the  Fif 
teenth  Corps  will  be  on  the  right  of  the  right  wing,  arid 
their  position  will  naturally  bring  them  to  Charleston  first, 
—  and  if  you  have  watched  the  history  of  that  corps,  you 
will  have  remarked  that  they  generally  do  their  work  pretty 
well.  The  truth  is,  the  whole  army  is  burning  with  an 
insatiable  desire  to  wreak  vengeance  upon  South  Carolina. 
I  almost  tremble  at  her  fate,  but  feel  she  deserves  all  that 
seems  in  store." 

A  solid  wall  of  smoke  by  day,  forty  miles  wide 
and  from  the  horizon  to  the  zenith,  gave  notice  to 
the  women  and  children  of  the  fate  that  was  mov 
ing  on  them.  All  day  they  watched  it  —  all  night  it 
was  lit  up  by  forked  tongues  of  flame  lighting  the 
lurid  darkness.  The  next  morning  it  reached  them. 
Terror  borne  on  the  air,  fleet  as  the  furies  spread  out 
ahead,  and  murder,  arson,  rapine,  enveloped  them. 

1  Sherman's  "Memoirs,"  Vol.  II,  p.  223. 


MRS.  VlNCENZO   BOTTA. 


My  Day  403 

But  why  repeat  the  story  ?  This  was  war,  war 
that  spares  not  the  graybeard,  childhood,  aged  women, 
holy  nuns  —  nobody  !  Not  upon  one  only  does  the 
responsibility  for  such  crimes  rest.  Nor  is  it  for  us 
to  desire,  or  mete  out,  an  adequate  punishment. 
The  Great  Judge  "  will  repay "  -  unless,  as  I 
humbly  pray.  He  has  forgiven,  as  we  have  for 
given,  and  I  trust  been  ourselves  forgiven. 

No  Southerner,  however,  can  wholly  forget,  as 
he  stands  before  the  splendid  statue  made  by  St. 
Gaudens,  at  what  price  the  honors  to  this  man  were 
bought.  The  angel  may  bear,  to  some  eyes,  a  palm 
of  victory,  and  proclaim,  "  Fame,  Honor,  Immortal 
ity,  to  him  whom  I  lead."  To  the  eye  of  the  South 
erner  the  winged  figure  bears  a  rod,  and  the  bronze 
lips  a  warning —  "  Beware  !  " 

Our  earliest  and  most  faithful  friends  in  our  new 
home  were  Judge  Edward  Patterson  (our  first  visitor) 
and  his  amiable  and  gifted  family.  Much  of  our 
happiness  was  due  to  their  sympathetic  attentions, 
at  a  time  when  we  had  few  friends. 

One  of  my  early  friends  in  New  York  was  Mrs. 
Vincenzo  Botta,  whom  I  had  met  at  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Dix  when  we  were  negotiating  with  Colonel 
Mapleson,  Patti,  and  Nicolini.  She  was  then  about 
sixty-nine  years  old.  She  died  seven  years  after  she 
first  came  to  my  little  home  in  3jd  Street,  and  a 
warm  friendship  grew  to  full  maturity  in  those  few 
years.  Without  beauty  she  had  yet  a  charming 
presence,  with  no  evidences  of  age,  although  the 
little  black  lace  mantilla  she  wore  over  her  curls  was 
her  own  confession.  She  was  the  only  woman  who 


404  My  Day 

held  at  the  time,  or  has  held  since,  anything  like  a 
real  salon.  Nobody  was  ever  known  to  decline  an 
invitation  to  that  house.  It  was  one  of  the  large, 
old-fashioned  houses  near  Fifth  Avenue,  with  San 
Domingo  mahogany  doors,  wide  staircase,  and  four 
spacious  rooms  on  each  floor.  There  were  tapestries 
on  the  walls,  a  few  good  pictures,  three  busts,  —  one 
of  Salvini,  one  of  the  hostess's  husband,  the  other 
her  maid,  —  wood  fires,  and  fresh  flowers  every  day. 
The  gracious  white-haired  lady  at  the  head  of  the 
house  had  a  charm  born  of  long  experience  in  all 
the  gentle  ministrations  of  life  ;  her  mind  was  beauti 
fully  cultivated,  the  bluest  blood  filled  her  veins ; 
but  not  from  her  lips  did  one  learn  anything  of  her 
distinguished  antecedents,  although  she  had  been 
an  author,  a  sculptor,  and  poet.  She  came  nearer 
to  the  distinction  of  holding  a  salon  than  any  one 
who  has  ever  lived  in  New  York.  At  her  receptions 
might  be  found  Salvini,  Edwin  Booth,  Modjeska, 
Christine  Nilsson,  and  every  distinguished  author  and 
diplomat  who  visited  the  city.  Nobody  was  ever 
hired  to  entertain  her  guests  —  they  entertained 
each  other.  Sometimes  a  great  singer  would  volun 
teer  a  song,  or  a  poet  or  an  actor  give  something 
of  his  art,  of  course  never  requested  by  the  hostess. 
Sometimes  the  evening  would  close  with  a  dance. 
One  often  wondered  at  the  ease  with  which  Mrs. 
Botta  could  gather  around  her  musicians,  artists, 
actors,  authors,  men  and  women  of  fashion,  men 
conspicuous  in  political  life,  —  every  one  who  had 
in  himself  some  element  of  originality  or  genius. 
Her  salon  was  not  inaptly  termed  a  reproduction  of 


My  Day  465 

Lady  Blessington's  or  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland's. 
A  card  to  her  conversazione,  as  she  preferred  to  term 
it,  was,  as  I  have  said,  eagerly  sought,  and  never  de 
clined.  Her  afternoon  teas  were  famous  ;  but  her 
dinners!  I  do  not  mean  the  terrapin  and  wines  — 
the  table-talk  in  this  mansion  was  the  attraction. 
Everybody  came  away  not  only  charmed,  but  en 
couraged  ;  thinking  better  of  himself,  and  by  conse 
quence  better  of  his  fellow-creatures. 

Dinners  like  these  are  constantly  given  to-day  all 
over  the  country.  Perhaps  our  best  and  highest 
people  —  those  that  constitute  the  honor  and  pride 
of  our  social  life,  and  redeem  our  manners  from  the 
criticism  to  which  they  are  subjected  —  are  the 
people  who  manage  never  to  appear  in  the  papers. 
They  give  dinners  of  great  taste  and  beauty  that 
are  never  described.  At  their  tables  are  gathered 
the  wit  and  wisdom  of  many  lands,  and  whatever 
accessories  can  be  commanded  by  taste  and  wealth. 
These  stars  of  the  social  firmament  revolve  in  a 
sphere  of  their  own,  —  around  no  wealthy  or  titled 
sun,  —  but  around  each  other.  Vitalized  by  one 
powerful  magnet,  they  at  once,  like  iron  filings,  attract 
each  other. 

I  had  known  nothing  of  Mrs.  Botta's  prestige  nor 
of  her  friendship  with  Emerson,  Carlyle,  Froude, 
Fanny  Kemble,  Frederika  Bremer,  Daniel  Webster, 
Charles  O'Connor,  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  even  Louis 
Kossuth,  when  she  first  visited  me,  introducing  her 
self;  nor  did  she  ever  allude  to  any  one  or  anything 
(as  so  many  do  !)  to  impress  me  with  her  claims  to 
my  consideration.  A  most  fascinating  talker  herself, 


406  My  Day 

she  proceeded  simply  to  draw  me  on  gently  to  talk 
of  myself,  —  and  no  magnet  can  draw  like  human 
sympathy.  I  once  found  myself  telling  her  some 
thing  of  my  experience  in  time  of  war,  encouraged 
by  her  splendid  eyes  fixed  upon  me  in  rapt  attention. 

Presently  their  light  was  veiled  in  tears,  and  ris 
ing  from  her  seat  she  took  me  in  outstretched  arms 
and  kissed  me.  No  wonder  that  the  soul  of  Jona 
than  was  knit  to  the  soul  of  David  from  that  hour. 

She  could  even  sympathize  with  so  small  a  matter 
as  my  dolors  anent  the  hot  summer  I  had  passed  — 
"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  all  about  it."  She 
had  written  a  dismal  catalogue  of  the  miseries  of  the 
dog-days,  of  which  I  remember  the  concluding 
lines :  — 

"  When  Phoebus  and  Fahrenheit  start  a  rampage 
Then  there's  heat,  no  thoughts  of  a  blizzard  assuage  ; 
And  when  '  General  Humidity  '  joins  in  the  tilt 
Like  plucked  flowers  of  the  field  the  poor  mortal  must  wilt, 
Till  he  cries  like  the  wit,  in  disconsolate  tones, 
To  take  off  his  flesh  and  sit  in  his  bones  ! 
But  for  all  that,  my  dear,  to  make  myself  clear, 
Give  me  New  York  for  nine  months  of  the  year  — 
With  all  its  shortcomings  there's  no  place  so  dear  ! 
With  its  life  and  its  rush,  what  it  does  and  has  done, 
There's  no  city  like  it  under  the  sun." 

In  which  I  have  come  to  agree  with  her. 

In  her  drawing-rooms,  beautiful  by  specimens  of 
her  own  work,  —  for  she  was  a  sculptor  and  exqui 
site  needlewoman  as  well  as  poet  and  graceful 
hostess,  —  I  met  many  of  the  literary  lights  of  the 
day,  as  well  as  society  women  of  New  York.  "I 
shall  give  a  reception  to  Miss  Murfree,"  she  once 


My  Day  407 

told  me.  "  Why  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Is  she  one  of  your 
great  people  ?  "  "  Do  you  remember,"  said  Mrs. 
Botta,  with  a  twinkling  eye,  "  c  Dorinda  Cayce '  ? "  I 
remembered  Dorinda  Cayce  in  the  "  Prophet  of  the 
Great  Smoky  Mountain/'  who  had  gone  through 
storms  of  snow  and  tempest  to  win  pardon  for  her 
lover  in  prison,  only  to  discover  at  the  end  he  was 
but  an  ordinary,  selfish  mortal.  There  was  nothing 
so  remarkable  about  that,  I  submitted.  "  Ah  !  but 
don't  you  remember  how  she  explained  the  wonder 
ful  fact  that,  with  all  his  faults,  she  had  loved  him 
and  had  been  ready  to  die  for  him  ?  f  No  —  no  — ' 
said  Dorinda,  c  I  never  loved  you!  '  I  loved  what  I 
thunk  you  was/  Then  and  there,"  said  Mrs.  Botta, 
"  she  reached  deep  down  into  the  mysteries  of  a 
woman's  heart.  We  love  what  we  think  they  are ! 
I  shall  give  her  a  reception." 

I  had  met  William  Cullen  Bryant  five  or  six  years 
before,  not  long  before  he  died  (I  have  seen  so 
many  setting  suns !),  and  Mrs.  Botta,  who  had 
known  him  well,  was  interested  in  my  account  of 
an  interview  with  him.  We  had  come  over  from 
Brooklyn  to  attend  a  reception  which  the  publisher 
of  Johnson's  Encyclopaedia  gave  to  his  contribu 
tors.  One  of  his  articles  had  been  written  by  my 
husband.  At  this  reception  I  also  met  Bayard 
Taylor,  Clarence  Stedman,  and  others,  with  whose 
talents  in  invective  against  the  South  I  was  familiar. 
But  I  bore  them  no  malice.  I  was  especially  anx 
ious  to  speak  with  the  old  poet,  and  sought  an  in 
troduction  to  him.  When  the  crowd  passed  on  to 
the  refreshment  rooms,  I  observed  him  standing 


4-o8  My  Day 

alone,  leaning  upon  the  grand  piano,  and  I  ventured 
to  join  him.  Supper  versus  William  Cullen  Bryant! 
There  could  be  but  one  conclusion.  I  made  bold 
to  hope  he  was  well,  as  I  stood  almost  spellbound 
before  his  fine  gray  head.  I  found  myself  hoping 
something  more.  I  was  willing  he  should  hate 
treason  with  all  his  heart  —  but  I  did  wish  he  could 
ever  so  little  like  the  traitor ! 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied  to  my  question,  "  I  am 
perfectly  well.  But  I  find  I  am  growing  old." 

"  I  warrant,"  said  I,  "  you  could  struggle  for  your 
oysters  with  the  best  of  them." 

"  True,"  he  replied,  "  but  that  is  not  the  trouble. 
I  forget  people's  names." 

"  A  poet  can  afford  to  forget.  Only  politicians 
need  be  careful." 

"  Nobody  can  afford  to  be  unkind,"  answered  the 
old  poet. 

"  Names  are  small  matters,"  I  suggested.  "  If 
you  remember  faces,  you  are  all  right." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  he,  "  you  must  remember  names. 
I  did  not  arrange  this  drama  in  which  we  are  all 
acting,  but  I  know  a  part  of  my  role  is  to  remember 
names.  If  I  am  presented  to  Mr.  Smith,  and  I  meet 
him  next  day  in  Broadway,  I  think  it  was  intended 
I  should  say  c  Good  morning,  Mr.  Smith/  Other 
wise,  why  was  I  presented  to  him  ?  If  I  have  for 
gotten  his  name,  I  have  forgotten  my  part,  and  lose 
the  only  opportunity  that  will  ever  be  given  me  in 
this  world  of  being  polite  to  Mr.  Smith." 

Mrs.  Botta  delighted  in  such  incidents  as  this. 
I  wish  she  could  have  laughed  with  me  over  an 


My  Day  409 

attempt  my  Gordon  (Mrs.  Henry  Rice)  made  to 
introduce  Mr.  Bryant  to  a  class  of  poor  white  boys 
she  was  teaching  at  a  night-school  in  her  home  on 
a  great  tobacco  plantation  in  Virginia.  She  had 
taught  them  to  read  and  write,  some  arithmetic  and 
geography,  even  some  Latin ;  and  was  minded  to 
awaken  the  aesthetic  instincts  which  she  believed 
must  exist  in  the  poor  fellows.  She  read  them 
Bryant's  "  Ode  to  a  Waterfowl.''  "Now,  boys,"  she 
said  eagerly,  "tell  me  how  you  would  feel  if  you  had 
seen  this."  There  was-  dead  silence.  Appealing  to 
the  most  hopeful  of  her  sons  of  toil,  she  received  an 
enlightening  response,  "I  wouldn't  think  nuthin'." 
"  What  would  you  say  ?  "  she  persisted.  "  Wall  — 
I  reckon  I'd  say,  '  Thar  goes  a  duck  ! ' 

Nobody  was  kinder  to  us  than  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman.  On  Tuesdays  and  Fridays  one  might 
always  find  a  welcome  —  no  cards  were  issued  —  and 
a  small,  choice  company  of  literary  men  and  women 
in  his  drawing-rooms.  Mr.  Stedman  was  the  soul 
of  kindness.  His  "  friends  from  the  Old  Dominion  " 
were  just  as  welcome  as  if  he  had  never  written 
"  Abraham  Lincoln,  give  us  a  MAN  "  to  crush  out 
our  "  rebellion."  No  man  could  have  been  more 
generous  to  authors,  himself  so  polished  and  grace 
ful  a  writer.  I  remember  in  my  own  first  timid 
venture  —  I  had  written  something  for  the  Cosmopoli 
tan  Magazine  —  that  he  made  haste  to  welcome  me, 
to  say  my  essay  was  "  charmingly  written,"  and  to 
add,  "  I  have  always  observed  that  whatever  a  lady 
chooses  to  write  has  something,  an  air,  that  the 
rest  of  us  can  never  attain,"  -which  goes  to  prove 


410  My  Day 

the  chivalry,  if  not  the  perception,  of  dear  Mr.  Sted- 
man. 

In  the  eighties  there  were  other  houses  where 
purely  literary  receptions  were  held  weekly  :  notably 
at  President  Barnard's,  also  at  Mrs.  Barrow's,  affec 
tionately  known  by  her  own  nom  de  'plume ',  "Aunt 
Fanny,"  and  thus  recorded  to-day  in  encyclopaedias 
of  literature.  Mrs.  Andros  B.  Stone  also  gathered 
the  elect  in  her  drawing-rooms.  There  I  saw  again 
the  gentle  Madame  Modjeska.  There  I  met  Henry 
M.  Stanley,  thronged  with  admirers,  and  with  great 
drops  of  perspiration  on  his  heated  brow,  —  declining 
to  say  to  me  "  nay  "  when  I  asked  if  this  were  not 
worse  than  the  jungles  of  Africa  ! 

What  a  life  he  had  led,  to  be  sure  !  We  first 
heard  of  him  as  a  soldier  in  the  Confederate  army ; 
then  in  the  Union  navy.  He  represented  "  the 
Blue  and  the  Gray "  —  he  had  worn  them  both. 
We  all  know  of  his  search  for  Dr.  Livingstone,  of  his 
subsequent  marches  through  the  Dark  Continent; 
of  his  perils  by  land,  perils  by  sea,  courage  and  for 
titude.  And  now  here  he  was  —  quite  like  other 
people  —  in  an  evening  coat  with  a  gardenia  in  his 
button-hole,  and  with  an  English  bride  all  in  white 
and  gold,  and  still  young  enough  to  fill  the  measure 
of  his  glory  with  more  adventures. 

I  was  early  elected  a  member  of  the  Wednesday 
Afternoon  Club,  proposed  by  Mrs.  Botta,  whose  first 
able  contribution  —  a  review  of  Matthew  Arnold's 
essay,  "  Civilization  in  the  United  States  "  —  enlight 
ened  me  as  to  what  might  be  expected  of  me  when 
my  turn  came  to  provide  a  paper  for  discussion. 


My  Day  411 

I  think  I  disappointed  Mrs.  Botta  by  persistently 
"  begging  off"  rrom  this  duty  —  implied  by  my  con 
sent  to  become  a  member  of  the  club,  which  included 
Mrs.  Mary  Mapes  Dodge,  Mrs.  R.  W.  Gilder,  Mrs. 
Almon  Goodwin,  Mrs.  Theodore  Roosevelt,  Miss 
Kate  Field,  Mrs.  George  Haven  Putnam,  and  other 
literary  women.  Mrs.  John  Sherwood  was  one  of 
our  grande  dames,  altogether  a  very  notable  person 
age  in  her  prime,  a  much-travelled  lady,  the  friend 
of  Lord  Houghton,  Daniel  Webster,  and  other  great 
lights.  She  could  always  gather  a  large  and  admir 
ing  audience  at  her  literary  conferences.  She  lived 
to  an  old  age,  and  never  ceased  to  be  "a  personage  " 
—  a  very  fine  type  of  a  high-born,  high-bred,  intel 
lectual  woman.  These  reunions,  which  led  society 
in  the  eighties,  afforded  opportunity  for  the  man  or 
woman  of  versatile  talent.  Anybody  can  harangue 
or  read  an  essay  or  exploit  a  special  fad  or  hobby. 
Anybody  can  chatter,  but  how  many  of  us  can  pass 
a  thought  "like  a  bit  of  flame  "  from  one  to  another  ; 
or  turn,  like  a  many-faceted  gem,  a  scintillating 
flash  in  every  direction  ?  This  is  possible  !  This 
made  the  charm  of  the  French  salon,  and  makes  the 
charm  to-day  of  more  than  one  little  drawing-room 
that  I  wot  of,  which  has  never  been  described  in  the 
society  columns  of  the  newspapers. 

I  must  not  dare  put  myself  on  record  as  enjoying 
only  "high  thinking."  The  great  Dr.  Johnson  liked 
gossip,  so  did  Madame  de  Sevigne,  so  did  Greville, 
and  hundreds  of  other  delightful  people.  So  do  I  ! 
But  I  draw  a  line  at  some  modern  gossip,  —  whether 
Mrs.  Claggett's  domestic  unhappiness  will  reach  the 


4*2  My  Day 

climax  of  a  divorce,  whether  she  will  better  herself 
in  her  next  venture  ;  whether  Mrs.  Billion  will  really 
have  any  difficulty  in  getting  into  society,  or  what 
on  earth  Lord  Frederick  could  see  in  that  pug-nosed 
Peggy  Rustic,  who  hasn't  even  the  saving  grace  of 
a  little  money.  I  am  afraid  of  personalities,  and  yet 
we  cannot  always  discuss  politics  and  religion.  Men 
have  been  burnt  at  the  stake  for  talking  politics  and 
religion  ! 

I  have  never  sympathized  in  the  wholesale  abuse 
of  New  York  society  —  and  by  this  much-used  word 
I  mean  the  society  defined  by  Noah  Webster  as 
"  that  class  in  any  community  which  gives  and  re 
ceives  entertainments."  Necessarily  a  city  like  New 
York  must  be  made  up  of  many  contrasting  elements 
—  but  I  believe  the  true  leaven  of  good  society  is 
always  here,  and  will  in  the  end  inevitably  prevail  to 
the  leavening  of  the  whole.  One  cannot  fail  to  ob 
serve  in  the  modern  novels  that  profess  to  expose  it  sit 
uations  that  could,  under  no  circumstances,  ever  have 
occurred  in  decent  society.  The  facility  with  which 
men  and  women  of  humble  antecedents  reach  high 
position  here  is  easily  explained.  Their  early  disad 
vantages  have  taught  them  enterprise,  to  look  out  for 
their  own  advantage  and  seize  every  opportunity. 
They  have  ambition.  Hence  they  are  "  climbers." 
The  lowest  rung  in  the  ladder  successfully  reached, 
there  is  foothold  for  the  next.  They  are  not  sensi 
tive.  "  Snubbed  ?"  said  one.  "  Of  course  !  Isn't 
everybody  snubbed?"  It  is  not  wonderful  that 
New  York  receives  them.  Their  wits  are  sharpened. 
They  are  very  agreeable,  very  supple,  very  adaptable. 


My  Day  413 

Au  reste  !  Well,  they  learn.  There  are  books  on 
"  Manners  and  Social  Usages  "  to  be  had  for  a  dime 
or  two.  There  is  one  called  "The  Gentleman0 
which  was  popular  in  the  nineties.  To  have  read 
Mr.  Howells  on  this  book  is  to  long  to  quote  him. 
"  We  have  lately  seen  how  damaging  Mr.  McAllister 
could  make  himself  to  the  best  society  of  New  York 
by  his  devout  portrayal  of  it,  and  now  another 
devotee  of  fashion  is  trying  to  play  the  iconoclast 
with  the  ideal  of  gentleman. 

"  Do  read  c  Gentleman/  It  is  the  most  delicious 
bit  of  ridiculous  flunkyism  that  has  appeared  yet 
—  always  excepting  the  great  success  in  that  line. 
After  instructing  the  proposed  gentleman  about  his 
cravats  and  pocket-handkerchief,  and  not  to  cross 
his  legs  or  wink  or  pick  his  teeth,  the  author  con 
cludes  :  c  In  making  an  offer  of  marriage,  when  the 
lady  replies  affirmatively,  immediately  clasp  her  in 
your  arms' !  " 

But  after  all  said  and  done  against  society,  I  have 
always  liked  it.  I  have  not  the  least  wish  to  turn 
reformer.  It  will  work  out  its  own  salvation  as  to 
important  characteristics,  and  we  can  afford  to  laugh 
at  its  ridiculous  ways.  We  know  it  is  "  too  bad  for 
blessing,"  but  at  the  same  time  "  it  is  too  good  for 
banning." 

"  I  overheard  Jove,"  said  Silenus,  "  talking  of 
destroying  the  earth ;  he  said  he  had  failed  ;  they 
were  all  rogues  and  vixens,  going  from  bad  to  worse. 
Minerva  said  she  hoped  not ;  they  were  only  ridicu 
lous  little  creatures  with  this  odd  circumstance :  if 
you  called  them  bad,  they  would  appear  bad;  if  good, 


414  My  Day 

they  would  appear  so  ;  and  there  was  no  one  person 
among  them  who  would  not  puzzle  her  owl  —  much 
more  all  Olympus  —  to  know  whether  it  was  funda 
mentally  good  or  bad."     It  all  depends  upon  the 
?oint  of  view,  and  in  a  difference  of  opinion  between 
ove  and  Minerva  I  do  not  hesitate. 

But  if  I  may  be  allowed  one  more  word,  I 
think  the  trouble  about  our  New  York  society  is 
that  we  have  too  much  of  it.  We  have  no  leisure 
to  select.  And  then  we  seem  to  be  always  en  repre 
sentation  —  as  Senior  said  of  an  American  girl.  We 
are  consumed  with  a  desire  to  make  an  impression, 
—  that  deadly  foe  to  good  manners,  —  or  else  we 
wrap  ourselves  in  reserve  like  a  garment.  Of  the 
two  I  think  I  prefer  the  former  —  anything  but  the 
icy  dulness  of  the  intense  inane. 

To  tell  the  truth,  we  are  heavy — we  Americans. 
We  cannot  pass  quickly,  "  like  a  bit  of  flame,"  from 
one  thing  to  another.  We  are  rarely  gracious 
enough  to  wish  to  please,  but  if  we  do,  our  com 
pliments  are  not  an  ethereal  touch,  but  flattery 
broadly  laid  on  with  spade  and  trowel.  Chester 
field  says,  "  Human  nature  is  the  same  all  over  the 
world."  That  is,  doubtless,  true,  —  we  hear  it 
quoted  often  enough,  —  but  there  is  a  great  deal 
more  of  it  in  some  places  than  in  others.  There  is 
an  enormous  quantity  of  human  nature  in  New  York. 
After  all,  it  is  not  as  subtle  as  we  imagine.  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu  declares  that  in  all  her 
life  she  had  seen  but  two  species  of  human  beings  — 
men  and  women!  We  cannot  agree  with  her, —  we 
have  seen  others,  —  but  we  have  faith  that  all  things 


My  Day  415 

are  working  together  for  good,  and  good  only,  in  our 
social  life,  indications  to  the  contrary,  reports  to  the 
contrary,  notwithstanding. 


Our  little  house  on  33d  Street  was  the  theatre 
of  many  pleasant  events.  There  I  found  my  friends 
on  my  Thursdays  at  home.  There  my  daughter 
Lucy  was  married.  Among  her  wedding  presents 
was  an  interesting  bit  of  embroidery  from  the  wife 
of  our  Minister  to  Turkey,  S.  S.  Cox.  Mr.  Cox 
had  sent  it  with  a  letter,  at  the  conclusion  of  which 
he  explained,  —  remembering  my  supposed  interest 
in  Southern  dialect, — "I  am  sorry  to  be  so  stupid, 
but  the  truth  is  I'm  mighty  tired  !  I  have  been 
toting  Americans  over  Constantinople  all  day." 

I  answered,  requesting  a  key  to  the  embroidery, 
and  added,  "  I  am  sorry  to  find  that  the  onerous 
duties  of  our  Minister  to  the  Ottoman  Empire  in 
clude  the  bearing  upon  his  back  or  in  his  arms  the 
bodies  of  visiting  Americans,  etc.  (c  Tote,'  an  old 
English  word  now  obsolete,  is  still  used  by  Southern 
negroes  for  bearing  a  burden,  not  for  conducting  or 
escorting.)  "  Here  is  Mr.  Cox's  reply  :  — 

"  U.  S.  LEGATION,  CONSTANTINOPLE, 

"May  22,  1886. 
"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  PRYOR  :  — 

"  If  your  daughter  was  half  as  much  pleased  with  my 
wife's  little  gift  as  your  letter  made  me,  then  the  entente 
cordlale  between  the  Bosphorus  and  the  Hudson  is  firmly  es 
tablished.  These  little  ministrations  are  very  little  5  but  — 


416  My  Day 

"  <  To  the  God  that  maketh  all 

There  is  no  great  —  there  is  no  small. ' 

Some  Brahmin  said  that !  I  think  it  is  one  of  Emerson's 
petty  larcenies  from  the  Orient ;  but  it  is  ever  so  true. 

Now 

"  '  On  what  a  slender  thread 
Hang  everlasting  things,' 

as  the  Methodists  used  to  sing  !  Here,  on  my  little  word 
'  tote,'  you  hang  a  social  and  philological  disquisition  !  I 
will  not  discuss  the  word  in  its  Africanese  dialect ;  but  I 
take  the  noble  red  man  —  whose  totem  is  his  household 
god ;  and  in  this  sense,  in  this  connection,  let  the  doyley 
be  revered,  as  your  husband  would  say,  totus  atque  rotundus. 

"  The  bit  of  Oriental  work  with  its  cabalistic  characters 
bears  the  Sultan's  monogram.  It  has  a  story,  too — this 
monogram.  It  is  said  to  be  seen  in  blood  in  one  of  the 
temples  of  Stamboul,  St.  Sophia,  on  a  column  so  high  up 
that  a  man  of  my  size  can't  see  it.  It  is  said  that  the 
blood  came  from  the  hand  of  Mahomet  II  when  he  rode 
into  the  church.  It  is  shaped  like  a  hand,  you  may  see. 
Another  tale  not  so  harrowing  :  It  is  that  Amurath,  when 
he  made  the  first  treaty  with  a  Christian  power,  —  a  small 
republic  of  Ragusa,  —  lost  his  temper  and  dipped  his  five 
fingers  in  ink,  and  thus  made  his  mark  on  the  parchment. 
This  is  the  tongbra,  or  seal.  The  present  Sultan  has  added 
a  flower  to  his  handicraft. 

"All  this  goes  on  the  supposition  that  the  embroidery 
sent  Miss  Lucy  has  the  cipher  on  it,  but  as  Mrs.  Cox  is 
out  bazaaring,  —  or  shopping,  —  I  must  guess  at  it. 

"  All  I  can  add  is  to  express  my  regards  for  your  husband, 
who  is  my  beau  ideal  in  many  ways.  Doubtless  he  is  your 
'  bold  idol,'  as  a  young  lady  said.  Tell  him  when  the  time 
comes,  to  warm  that  place  for  me  !  I  will  go  back  to  Con- 


My  Day  417 

gress  and  die  in  harness.  I  don't  want  to  die  here,  —  in 
fact  I  don't  want  to  die  at  all  as  yet,  for  life  has  so  much 
blessing  and  beauty —  in  spring  ! 

"  Mrs.  Cox  and  I  go  this  evening  to  dine  at  the  palace  of 
Zildez  —  the  pleasure-house  of  the  Sultan.  It  is  not  mu 
tual  that  I  must  take  my  Only  One  to  see  him  and  I  can't 
see  any  one  of  his  ten  thousand  and  altogether  lovely. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"S.  S.  Cox." 


2E 


CHAPTER   XL 

I   HAVE  always  thought  that  New  York's  Cen 
tennial  celebration  in  1889  was  largely  responsi 
ble  for  the  patriotic  societies  of  men  and  women 
which  have  swept  the  country. 

Everybody  was  willing  at  the  time  of  the  celebra 
tion  to  sit  for  two  entire  days  on  rude  seats  under 
the  April  sun  while  the  evidences  of  the  power  and 
achievements  of  our  great  country  passed  in  review 
before  us. 

We  remember  the  military  pomp  of  the  first  day, 
the  dignified  carriage  of  the  governors  of  our  United 
States  as  they  bared  their  heads  in  gracious  acknowl 
edgment  of  the  cheers  of  the  people,  the  triumphant 
blare  of  trumpets,  the  stirring  strains  of  martial 
music,  the  glitter  of  bayonets,  the  long,  living  line, 
which  was  only  a  small  part  of  the  nation's  bulwark 
against  its  possible  foes. 

Then  the  schools  and  colleges,  then  the  gorgeous 
civic  parade  and  the  illustrations  and  representatives 
of  the  trades,  occupations,  and  nationalities  that  have 
found  a  home  in  our  broad  land. 

All  this  passed  before  us  and  is  but  dimly  remem 
bered.  No  permanent  impression  was  made  by  the 
great  display.  Little  remains  except  the  recollection 
that  there  were  millions  and  millions  of  people  lining 
our  pavements,  that  the  show  was  hardly  adequate 
to  the  expectation  of  these  people,  that  it  was  a  time 
of  many  mistakes  and  much  discomfort. 

418 


My  Day  419 

But  this  pageant  was  not  all  of  the  Centennial. 
A  number  of  men  of  taste  and  feeling  had  conceived 
the  happy  idea  of  collecting  revolutionary  relics, 
papers,  and  portraits,  and  exhibiting  them  in  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  House. 

We  expected  to  be  interested  in  these,  and  some 
of  us  gave  time  and  thought  to  the  task  of  making 
the  collection  as  choice  as  possible.  But  we  were 
unprepared  for  the  effect  of  the  exhibition  upon  the 
minds  of  the  beholders.  We  filed  along  the  gal 
leries  of  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  and  mused 
over  the  papers  of  "  The  Cincinnati "  ;  the  books, 
few  and  well  worn ;  pocket  dictionaries  with  book 
plates,  candlesticks  that  had  held  the  tallow  dips  in 
difficult  times ;  silver  caddies  that  had  done  duty  in 
the  "  tea-cup  times  "  ;  pewter  platters  that  had  served 
many  a  frugal  meal  at  Valley  Forge ;  the  curtains 
that  had  shaded  the  bed  of  Lafayette ;  the  piano- 
cover  embroidered  by  sweet  Nellie  Custis ;  pathetic 
empty  garments,  the  silken  coat  of  George  Washing 
ton,  the  brown  silk  gown  of  Martha  Washington. 
We  remembered  at  what  price  the  glories  of  the 
preceding  days  had  been  purchased.  We  lived  over 
the  early  times  of  anxiety,  privation,  and  danger. 
Raising  our  eyes  to  the  walls,  we  encountered  the 
pictured  eyes  of  the  men  and  women  whose  spirit, 
behind  our  little  army,  had  compelled  events  and 
given  dignity  and  importance  to  our  Revolutionary 
history. 

It  was  difficult  to  associate  thought,  learning, 
courage,  foresight,  and  statesmanship  with  those 
placid  faces.  Artists  of  that  day  presented  only  the 


42O  My  Day 

calm,  impassive  features  of  their  sitters.  There  was 
George  Washington,  serene  in  every  pose,  dress,  and 
age ;  Alexander  Hamilton,  Richard  Henry  Lee, 
keen-eyed  Patrick  Henry,  Martha  Washington, 
Elizabeth  Washington,  fair  Nelly  Custis,  dark-eyed 
Frances  Bland,  whose  patriot  brother  fills  a  lost  grave 
in  Trinity  churchyard.  These  and  scores  of  others 
looked  down  upon  us  from  the  walls  of  our  great 
opera-house. 

And  yet  it  is  this,  and  this  only,  of  all  the  pageant 
that  made  a  living  and  lasting  impression  upon  the 
minds  of  the  people.  Pondering  upon  the  associa 
tions  connected  with  these  relics  and  portraits  of  the 
Revolutionary  time,  and  rereading. the  histories  con 
nected  with  them,  an  impulse  was  given  which  is  now 
thrilling  our  people  to  the  extremest  bounds  of  our 
country,  and  which  will  result  in  our  taking  proper 
steps  to  acquire  and  preserve  all  the  localities  con 
nected  with  the  struggle  for  our  independence. 

I  was  keenly  interested  in  the  celebration.  I  knew 
the  president,  Mr.  Henry  Marquand,  and  took 
upon  myself  the  duty  of  collecting  portraits  from 
Virginia  —  of  Patrick  Henry,  members  of  the 
Washington  family,  Nelly  Custis,  Frances  Bland, 
and  others.  I  cherish  an  engraved  resolution  of 
thanks  adopted  by  the  committee,  stating  that  such 
thanks  were  "especially  due"  for  my  "valuable  co 
operation  in  the  work  of  the  Loan  Exhibition  of 
portraits." 

The  influence  of  the  feeling  inspired  at  the  time  of 
the  Centennial  at  once  expressed  itself  in  the  formation 
of  the  societies  of  patriotic  men  and  women  now  so 


My  Day  421 

numerous  in  this  country.  I  assisted  in  the  founda 
tion  of  these  societies  —  the  Preservation  of  the  Vir 
ginia  Antiquities,  the  association  owning  Jamestown; 
the  Mary  Washington  Memorial  Association;  the 
Daughters  of  the  American  Revolution;  and  the  Na 
tional  Society  of  the  Colonial  Dames  of  America. 
The  duty  of  organizing  a  chapter  of  the  Daughters 
of  the  American  Revolution  was  assigned  to  me, 
and  I  named  it  "The  New  York  City  Chapter." 
Mrs.  Vincenzo  Botta  was  my  first  member,  and 
Mrs.  Martha  Lamb,  honorary  life  member.  I  was 
much  in  conference  with  Mrs.  Martha  Lamb  when 
she  was  helping  to  organize  the  Colonial  Dames  — 
and  I  was  early,  heart  and  soul,  interested  in  the 
Daughters  of  the  American  Revolution.  Of  James 
town  and  the  noble  society  which  owns  it  —  every 
body  knows.  I  managed  a  great  ball  at  the  White 
Sulphur  Springs  to  help  build  a  monument  over 
Mary  Washington's  grave.  The  governors  of  New 
York  and  of  Virginia  each  sent  flags  —  from  the 
state  of  my  birth  and  the  state  of  my  adoption. 
General  Lee  conducted  the  Mary  Washington  of 
the  hour.  The  Virginia  beauties  wore  their  great 
grandmother's  gowns  of  quilted  petticoat  and  bro 
cade,  and  I  received  a  large  sum  for  the  monument. 
For  the  Mary  Washington  monument  Mrs. 
Charles  Avery  Doremus,  with  Mrs.  Wilbur  Blood- 
good,  gave  a  beautiful  play,  for  which  the  Secretary 
of  the  Navy  lent  me  colors  enough  to  drape  the 
entire  house.  I  cherish  the  permit  I  received  to 
use  these  colors.  It  was  signed  "  George  Dewey"  ! 
Patti,  the  guest  of  Mrs.  Ogden  Doremus,  occupied 


422  My  Day 

one  of  the  boxes.  The  orchestra  played  <(  Home, 
Sweet  Home,"  and  she  rose  and  bowed  as  only 
Patti  can  bow.  I  talked  with  her  between  acts  and 
told  her  what  a  naughty,  candy-loving  little  ten-year- 
old  maid  she  had  been  when  she  would  stay  in 
Petersburg  with  Ellen  Glasgow's  mother,  and  Stra- 
kosch  had  to  pay  her  to  sing  with  a  hatful  of  candy  ! 
All  this  she  received  with  her  own  merry,  rippling 
laughter.  It  was  a  kind  deed  —  the  great  singer  to 
give  an  afternoon  of  her  time  to  encourage  me  in 
my  enterprise,  and  charm  my  amiable  amateurs  by 
her  hearty  applause.  Authorized  by  my  chief,  the 
widow  of  Chief  Justice  Waite,  I  made  the  Princess 
Eulalia  and  the  Duchess  of  Veragua  members  of 
the  Mary  Washington  Memorial  Association,  and 
conferred  upon  them  the  Golden  Star  of  the  order. 
This  was  a  pleasant  souvenir  for  them  of  the  Co 
lumbian  Exposition. 

The  societies  based  upon  Colonial  and  Revolu 
tionary  descent  deprecate  the  idea  that  anything 
tending  to  the  creation  of  an  aristocracy  is  intended 
by  their  action,  —  that  they  attach  any  other  signifi 
cance  to  the  accident  of  birth  than  the  presump 
tion  that  it  insures  interest  and  perpetuity ;  —  that 
there  is  any  motive  underlying  their  movement  less 
noble  than  the  pure  principle  of  patriotism.  Amer 
icans,  notwithstanding  their  adulation  of  foreign 
titles,  have  been  until  lately  somewhat  sensitive  lest 
they  should  be  thought  to  assume  a  right  to  aristoc 
racy.  When  Bishop  Meade  was  collecting  material 
for  his  "  History  of  Old  Families  and  Churches  in 
Virginia,"  he  found  the  owners  of  hereditary  arms 


My  Day  423 

and  crests  actually  ashamed  to  confess  the  fact ! 
They  felt  with  Napoleon  a  desire  to  create  rather 
than  inherit  nobility. 

The  spirit  of  the  times  now  seems  to  tend  to  the 
American  aristocracy  of  birth,  but  on  the  republican 
foundation  of  merit,  character  and  service  done ; 
not  an  aristocracy  which  assumes  the  right  to  social 
rule  because  of  birth,  but  an  aristocracy  which  rec 
ognizes  birth  as  a  bond  and  an  obligation.  "  There 
can  be,"  said  Bishop  Potter,  "  only  one  true  aristoc 
racy  in  all  the  world  —  that  of  character  enriched  by 
learning." 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  laws  that  govern 
enthusiasm.  It  is  like  "  the  wind  that  bloweth  where 
it  listeth  "  —and  no  man  can  discover  its  source. 
Once  in  a  hundred  years  a  great  wave  of  patriotic 
ardor  has  surged  over  this  continent.  Nathaniel 
Bacon  lived  a  hundred  years  too  soon  when  he 
struck  the  first  blow  against  the  tyranny  of  England. 
A  hundred  years  later  his  spirit  possessed  our  revo 
lutionary  fathers.  Another  hundred  years  passed, 
and  the  whole  country  responded  to  a  similar  in 
stinct  of  patriotism.  It  is  sure  to  go  on  and  on, 
and  be  renewed  and  invigorated  at  every  centennial 
celebration  ;  and  who  will  be  able  to  number  the 
ranks,  or  estimate  the  strength  or  compute  the 
riches,  or  rightly  value  the  influence  of  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  the  American  Revolution  ? 

In  addition  to  this  and  other  patriotic  societies,  a 
very  important  national  society  was  formed  of  the 
Colonial  Dames  of  America,  in  which  I  was  inter 
ested.  No  state  leads  in  this  association  —  all  are 


424  My  Day 

upon  an  equal  footing.  The  applicant  cannot  apply, 
paradoxical  as  this  appears  !  Her  own  place  in 
the  world,  however  noble  her  lineage,  must  also  be 
considered.  She  must  be  gentle  of  manner  as  well 
as  gentle  of  blood. 

It  is  distinctly  understood  that  this  society  is  a 
firm,  though  silent,  protest  against  that  aristocracy 
which  considers  itself  best  because  it  is  highest  on 
the  tax  list  and  bank  list.  There  is  not  the  remot 
est  suggestion  of  an  aggressive  spirit,  but  the  steady 
trend  is  against  plutocracy,  arrogance,  and  that  im 
pertinent  assumption  of  place  notable  in  this  country 
in  those  who  have  no  foundation  for  pride  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  no  aspiration  above  it. 

One  of  the  sure  prophecies  of  our  future  pros 
perity  and  honor  may  be  found  in  the  number  and 
importance  of  the  patriotic  societies  of  women. 
For,  however  individuals  may  sully  them  by  per 
sonal  pride  and  ambition,  or  restrict  them  by  a 
spirit  of  exclusiveness  antagonistic  to  the  fundamen 
tal  principles  upon  which  they  are  based,  their  very 
existence  proves  the  decided  reaction  from  certain 
grave  evils  which  are  well  known  and  which  cer 
tainly  will  be,  unchecked,  a  source  of  peril  to  our 
beloved  country. 

I  believe  in  the  true-hearted  American  woman.  I 
have  known  her  in  every  phase  of  human  experience  : 
in  poverty,  in  suffering,  in  disaster,  in  prosperity. 
I  proudly  rank  myself  beside  her  !  Whatever  fickle 
fashion  or  wayward  fancy  may  decree  for  her,  I 
know  if  there  be  one  passionate  desire  above  all 
others  which  inspires  her  heart,  it  is  to  leave  this 


My  Day  425 

world  better  and  happier  for  her  having  been  born 
into  it,  —  to  become  herself  a  bright  exemplar  of  the 
beauty  of  goodness,  so  that  all  may  be  won  by  the 
loveliness  of  lovely  lives ;  to  let  the  whole  trend  of 
her  life  be  forward,  not  backward ;  upward,  not 
downward;  to  borrow  from  the  fires  of  the  heroic  past 
to  kindle  the  fires  of  the  future  ;  to  preserve  to  that 
end  the  memory  of  the  deeds  of  those  whose  lives 
have  set  them  apart  in  the  history  of  our  country. 


CHAPTER   XLI 

IN  the  summer  of  1888  yellow  fever  appeared  in 
Florida  and  raged  with  peculiar  violence  in 
Jacksonville.  Early  in  September  I  received 
a  letter  inviting  me  to  meet  a  number  of  ladies  at 
rooms  on  Broadway  to  organize  a  committee  for  the 
relief  of  the  Jacksonville  sufferers.  Mrs.  Stedman 
(wife  of  the  poet)  was  with  me  at  the  time  I  received 
the  letter,  and  she  agreed  with  me  that  it  would  be 
a  most  beautiful  thing  for  the  New  York  women  to 
send  substantial  relief  to  their  stricken  sisters  in 
Florida.  So,  on  the  day  and  hour  appointed,  Mrs. 
Stedman  accompanied  me  to  the  place  designated. 
We  found  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  a  large  room 
ful  of  ladies  neither  of  us  had  ever  before  seen.  I 
was  made  chairman  by  acclamation,  and  a  Mrs. 
Manton  secretary. 

I  had  never  presided  at  a  meeting,  but  I  did  my 
best.  I  invited  an  expression  of  the  views  of  those 
before  me  as  to  the  wisest  schemes  for  the  benevo 
lent  work.  A  great  many  suggestions  were  offered 
of  a  totally  unpractical  nature,  and  I  finally  asked 
for  an  adjournment,  to  meet  two  days  from  the  pres 
ent,  and  requested  my  "  committee  "  to  consider  the 
matter,  confer  with  their  friends,  and  give  me  the 
opportunity  to  seek  advice  from  mine.  Mrs.  Sted 
man  seemed  much  discouraged,  as  we  walked  home 
together.  She  felt  sure  nothing  would  result  from 

426 


My  Day  427 

this  experiment;  and  besides,  as  Mayor  Hewitt  was 
engaged  in  collecting  funds  for  the  relief  of  Jackson 
ville,  perhaps  all  good  citizens  should  send  their 
offerings  to  him.  I  intended  at  the  next  meeting 
to  follow  up  her  suggestions,  but  only  half  a  dozen 
ladies  appeared.  I  represented  to  them  that  we 
must  have  money  at  once  to  pay  for  our  service  in 
future  and  a  small  debt  already  incurred,  and  we 
then  again  adjourned.  In  the  vestibule  an  army  of 
eager  newspaper  reporters  awaited  us,  in  whose 
hands  I  left  my  friends,  having  nothing  myself  to 
communicate.  Next  morning  every  paper  in  New 
York  announced  the  interesting  fact  that  Mrs.  Roger 
A.  Pryor  was  president  of  "  The  Ladies'  Jackson 
ville  Relief  Society,"  that  names  well  known  in  so 
cial  and  literary  circles  were  associated  with  hers, 
and  donations  of  clothing,  food,  and  money  were 
solicited  !  Of  course  the  press  sent  me  many  re 
porters,  and  I  found  myself  suddenly  invested  with 
importance  and  armed  with  authority.  I  went  joy 
fully  to  meet  my  appointment  for  another  meeting, 
and  found  a  room,  full  indeed  —  but  of  empty  chairs  ! 
Not  a  soul  came  !  I  waited  throughout  the  hour 
alone.  At  the  end  of  it  a  message  was  sent  in  to 
me  from  the  reporters  without.  What  had  we  done  ? 
What  should  they  say  in  the  next  morning's  issue 
of  the  Herald,  the  World,  the  Sun,  the  Tribune? 
Sorely  perplexed,  I  answered :  "  Tell  the  gentlemen 
we  are  sitting  with  closed  doors.  I  shall  have  noth 
ing  to  report  for  several  days." 

I  suppose  no  woman  in  all  New  York  was  ever 
in  a  more  embarrassing  situation.     Here  was  I  ad- 


428  My  Day 

vertised  as  president  of  a  society  engaged  in  a  great 
benevolent  enterprise,  and  the  society  had  simply 
melted  away,  disappeared,  left  no  trace,  not  even  a 
name  and  address  !  What  would  New  York  think 
of  me  ?  I  keenly  felt  the  absurdity  of  my  position, 
but  superior  to  every  personal  annoyance  was  my 
own  disappointment.  An  opportunity  to  work  effec 
tively  for  the  stricken  people  of  Florida  had  been 
suddenly  snatched  from  me.  A  friend  in  Jackson 
ville,  having  heard  of  the  movement,  had  written  :  — 

"  I  have  been  prostrated  by  yellow  fever,  and  am  unable 
to  carry  out  the  plans  I  had  made  with  Bishop  Weed  for 
aid  for  the  sick  and  friendless  children  here,  and  the  bishop's 
days  are  rilled  with  the  most  pressing  duties.  Along  this 
pathway  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  there 
are  many  little  children  whose  pathetic  condition  touches 
the  chords  of  our  tenderest  sympathies.  But  our  hands 
hang  limp  and  helpless,  and  so  we  hold  them  out  to  you." 

I  found  myself  consumed  with  longing  to  help 
them.  I  felt  then  —  as  I  felt  afterward  for  the  or 
phans  of  Galveston  —  that  I  could  almost  consent 
to  give  my  own  life  if  I  could  but  save  theirs. 

These  were  the  dreams  of  the  night,  and  with  the 
dawn  I  had  resolved  to  be  "  obedient  to  the  heavenly 
vision."  Before  ten  o'clock  I  sent  telegrams  to 
Mrs.  Vincenzo  Botta,  Mrs.  Wm.  C.  Whitney,  Miss 
Rose  Elizabeth  Cleveland,  Mrs.  Frederic  Coudert, 
Mrs.  Judge  Brady,  Mrs.  Whitelaw  Reid,  Mrs.  Levi 
P.  Morton,  Mrs.  Don  Dickinson,  Mrs.  William  C. 
Rives,  Mrs.  William  Astor,  and  Mrs.  Martha  Lamb. 
Would  they  join  me  in  a  gift  from  New  York  women 
to  Jacksonville  ? 


My  Day  429 

Every  one  responded,  "  Yes,  gladly,  if  you  will 
manage  it."  Mrs.  Astor,  Mrs.  Reid,  and  Mrs. 
Coudert  sent  money  —  a  goodly  sum  —  to  start  my 
work. 

Here  I  was,  then,  with  a  splendid  following — le 
premier  fas?  Where  could  I  commence?  Surely 
not  by  begging  money  —  that  I  would  never  do. 
By  s,ome  means  we  must  earn  it.  Just  then  I  saw 
that  Mr.  Frohman  had  offered  a  matinee  for  the 
Mayor's  Relief  Fund.  I  communicated  with  Mr. 
Frohman,  asking  him  to  beg  the  mayor  to  let  my 
fine  committee  have  this  matinee  with  which  to  in 
augurate  our  work.  His  Honor  evidently  regarded 
the  proposition  as  indicative  of  nerve,  needing  repres 
sion.  Mr.  Frohman  quoted  him  as  surprised,  and 
quite  decided  :  "  Mr.  Hewitt  says  he  thought  every 
body  knew  he  needed  all  the  money  he  could  get." 

He  had  only  that  one  matinee.  Before  night  I 
had  telegraphed  every  reputable  theatre  and  concert- 
hall  in  the  city,  and  secured  nine  I  Thoroughly 
upon  my  mettle,  I  went  to  work.  My  support  was 
all  out  of  town  except  Mrs.  Botta  and  Mrs.  Fanny 
Barrow.  We  were  a  committee  of  three  for  several 
weeks,  but  we  diligently  increased  our  strength  by 
letters  and  telegrams.  Mr.  Aronson,  of  the  Casino, 
fixed  upon  September  27  for  his  votive  matinee,  and 
Mr.  John  McCaull,  who  had  Wallack's  Theatre, 
selected  the  same  day.  "  Never  mind,  madam," 
said  Mr.  Aronson ;  "  I'll  turn  away  enough  people 
from  my  doors  to  fill  Wallack's."  "  Rest  assured, 
madam,"  said  Mr.  McCaull,  "  I'll  turn  away  enough 
people  from  Wallack's  to  fill  the  Casino."  So  I  had 


43°  My  Day 

two  great  matinees  on  my  hands  —  fixed  for  the 
same  day,  the  same  hour. 

I  knew  it  would  be  vital  to  my  interests  to  have 
these  initial  entertainments  successful.  I  busied  my 
brain  with  schemes  which  I  cunningly  revealed  to 
my  friends  among  the  merchants.  I  wanted  satin 
banners  painted  with  palms  and  orange-blossoms 
for  Mr.  Aronson  and  Mr.  McCaull.  I  wanted 
beautiful  satin  programmes  for  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  who  played  for  me,  and  for  all  my  patron 
esses.  I  craved  flowers  galore.  I  longed  for  fine 
stationery,  white  wax,  and  a  seal.  I  obtained  all 
these  things.  So  many  flowers  were  sent  that  bas 
kets  and  bouquets  were  presented  to  everybody  on 
the  stage.  The  actors  caught  the  enthusiasm.  Mr. 
Solomon,  who  sang  the  topical  song  at  the  Casino, 
introduced  happy,  appropriate  lines.  "  Aunt  Louisa 
Eldridge "  opened  a  flower  sale  in  the  foyer,  and 
made  a  large  sum  for  the  charity.  Satin  souvenirs 
were  given  to  everybody  with  the  "  Compliments 
of  the  Ladies'  Jacksonville  Relief  Society."  Every 
note  (a  personal  one  written  to  each  performer)  was 
sealed  with  white  wax  and  a  seal  made  expressly  for 
me.  Little  Fanny  Rice  was  bewitching  in  Nadjy  — 
singing  the  pretty  Mignon  song  which  is  borrowed 
in  the  play.  At  Wallack's  there  was  a  splendid  pro 
gramme,  in  which  many  stars  participated  —  Kyrle 
Bellew,  and  others,  and  a  wonderfully  funny  balcony 
scene  from  cc  Romeo  and  Juliet"  —  De  Wolf  Hopper 
the  Juliet,  Jefferson  De  Angelis  the  nurse,  and  Mar 
shall  Wilder,  Romeo  ! 

When  it  was  all  over,  there  was  one  very  tired 


My  Day  431 

woman  on  33 d  Street.  But  next  day  the  papers 
announced  "  brilliant  audience,  beautiful  mounting, 
grand  success/'  Everybody  was  thanked,  by  name, 
through  the  papers.  Mr.  Aronson  sent  me  1904.50. 
Early  next  morning  I  was  summoned  to  my  parlor, 
and  before  reaching  it,  I  heard  a  masculine  voice  : 
"  Don't  be  afraid  —  speak  up  now  !  "  Entering,  I 
was  confronted  by  a  wee,  winsome  lassie  with  long 
curls,  great  eyes,  a  lovely  little  face  from  which  a  big 
hat  was  pushed,  while  a  chubby  hand  was  thrust  into 
mine  and  a  sweet  little  voice  said,  "  I'se  dot  sumsin 
for  you ! " 

It  was  the  baby  girl  of  Mr.  Stevens,  the  manager 
of  Wallack's,  and  the  "  sumsin"  was  a  big  roll  of 
bank-notes  —  $1620 — while  an  honest  little  hand 
presented  the  silver  fraction,  85  cents. 

This  money,  $2525,  was  immediately  forwarded 
to  Governor  Perry,  who  sent  it  where  it  was  sorely 
needed,  —  to  the  little  town  of  Fernandina  and  other 
small  towns  in  Florida  afflicted  by  the  scourge, — 
Gainsville,  Manatee,  McClenny,  Crawfordsville,  and 
Enterprise.  From  all  these  towns,  as  well  as  from 
Governor  Perry,  I  received  (fumigated)  letters  of 
thanks  and  assurance  that  every  dollar  was  used  to 
relieve  distress  ! 

From  that  time  onward  I  thought  of  nothing, 
worked  for  nothing  —  except  the  relief  of  Jackson 
ville.  I  was  nothing  but  a  theatrical  manager.  It 
was  the  custom  of  the  theatres  to  present  me  with 
the  building  and  play  —  also  with  a  plan  of  the 
house  and  all  the  tickets.  I  had  to  sell  the  seats 
and  boxes,  do  all  the  advertising,  and  meet  sundry 


432  My  Day 

outside  expenses  —  ushers,  orchestra,  etc.  I  did  all 
this  with  little  help  until  my  friends  returned  to 
town,  and  then  Mrs.  Egbert  Guernsey,  Mrs.  Bar 
row,  Mrs.  Stedman,  and  Mrs.  Botta  became  my  pil 
lars  of  strength.  Each  matinee  was  honored  as  were 
the  first  two,  with  satin  programmes,  banners,  and 
flowers,  personal  notes  sealed  with  white  wax,  etc. 
I  sat  from  morning  until  night  at  my  desk,  and  my 
diary,  kept  at  the  time,  records  two  thousand  letters 
written  by  my  own  hand.  Every  theatre  gave  us  a 
play,  and  the  Eden  Musee  a  varied  entertainment, 
and  Mrs.  Sherwood  came  from  Rome  to  give  us 
two  readings. 

When  Mr.  Daly's  turn  came,  I  had  some  difficulty 
in  selling  seats.  The  public  had  endured  a  good 
deal  of  Jacksonville,  and  began  to  say,  "The  Relief 
Society  is  still  with  us,"  or,  "  The  Jacksonville  Re 
lief  Society,  like  Banquo's  ghost,  '  will  not  down.' ' 

My  dear  friend,  Mr.  Cyrus  Field,  found  me  in 
some  anxiety,  and  sent  me  his  clerk  every  morn 
ing  to  ask  how  I  was  "  getting  along,"  taking  entire 
blocks  of  seats  and  filling  them  with  his  friends. 

Mrs.  Jeanette  Thurber  also  came  in  (when  I  was 
flagging)  with  her  large  heart  and  full  hands ;  so  our 
old  friends  —  Mrs.  Gilbert,  James  Lewis,  John  Drew, 
George  Clark,  Kitty  Cheatham,  and  Ada  Rehan  — 
played,  as  the  Jenkins  of  the  day  announced,  "  to  a 
large,  brilliant,  and  fashionable  house."  I  added  to 
each  of  my  satin  souvenirs  for  "  the  cast "  a  quotation 
from  Shakespeare.  Ada  Rehan  played  "  The  Wife 
of  Socrates  "  as  an  afterpiece.  On  her  souvenir  was 
printed  in  gold ;  — 


My  Day  433 

ft  Be  she  as  shrewd 
...   As  Socrates'  Xantippe," 

"  She  hath  a  tear  for  Pity,  and  a  hand 
Open  as  day  for  melting  charity." 

When  the  time  arrived  for  Mr.  Chickering  to 
give  me  his  hall  for  a  concert,  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  a  little  weary,  and  was  glad  to  enlist  the  interest 
of  Professor  Ogden  Doremus,  formerly  president 
of  the  Philharmonic  Society.  I  wrote  letters  which 
brought  many  offers.  "  How  many  ? "  asked  Dr. 
Doremus.  "A  hatful,"  I  answered.  We  poured 
them  out  on  a  table  and  made  a  selection.  "  These," 
said  the  doctor,  "  are  fine,  fine  !  But  we  must  have 
a  star !  I'll  go  out  to-morrow  and  sweep  the  skies 
for  comets.  The  great  planets  will  not  work  for 
nothing." 

At  night  he  wrote  me :  "  No  hope  for  a  star  ! 
Everybody  wants  money !  We  must  manage  with 
our  amateurs." 

The  next  day  I  drove  up  boldly  to  the  Metro 
politan  Opera  House  and  asked  for  Mr.  Stanton. 
I  told  him  my  story,  and  begged  him  to  "  help  me, 
to  help  my  poor  countrymen." 

"  I'll  give  you  Alvary  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Noth 
ing  is  too  good  for  your  cause  !  "  "  Oh,"  I  faltered, 
—  for  I  was  astounded,  —  "  I'm  sure  Alvary  will  not 
condescend  to  sing  with  a  company  of  amateurs,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  one  piano."  "  Will  not  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Stanton  ;  "  it  is  my  impression  Alvary  will 
do  what  I  order  him  to  do."  He  continued,  how 
ever,  as  Colonel  Mapleson  had  done  with  Patti, 
to  say  that,  although  this  was  all  true,  it  would  be 

2F 


434  My  Day 

wise  for  me  to  request  Alvary  to  sing.  This  I  did, 
receiving  a  gracious,  acquiescent  reply. 

Mrs.  Shaw,  the  famous  siffleuse^  had  just  returned 
from  England,  where  she  had  whistled  for  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  and  I  was  delighted  at  her  offer  to  con 
tribute  to  the  concert.  The  programme  was  ar 
ranged,  Mr.  Chickering  notified,  and  twelve  hundred 
tickets  sent  me  to  be  sold.  We  set  the  stage  mag 
nificently,  borrowing  rugs,  choice  furniture,  pictures, 
hangings.  We  furnished  a  greenroom  with  refresh 
ments,  cigars,  and  flowers,  —  and  a  remoter  private 
room  for  the  great  tenor,  —  had  the  banners  extraor 
dinarily  handsome,  and  advertised  our  programme 
for  Friday  night,  October  12. 

Early  Monday  morning  I  received  the  following 
note :  - 

"  Herr  Max  Alvary  supposed  when  he  consented  to  sing 
for  Madame  Pryor  that  she  would  arrange  a  programme  in 
accordance  with  his  social  and  artistic  position. 

"  Madame  Pryor  has  not  done  this.  Herr  Alvary  will 
not  sing  for  Madame  Pryor." 

Before  I  recovered  my  senses  after  reading  this 
astounding  missive,  I  received  the  following:  — 

"  Madam ;  When  Mrs.  Shaw  consented  to  whistle  for 
you,  she  forgot  she  was  under  contract  with  Mr.  Pond. 
She  cannot  appear  on  any  occasion  outside  Mr.  Pond's 
series  of  entertainments." 

Light  broke  upon  my  clouded  vision.  This  — 
the  siffleuse,  was  the  offending  one  !  I  wrote  at  once 
to  Herr  Alvary  that  the  number  to  which  he  had 


My  Day  435 

objected  was  withdrawn.  I  told  the  telegraph 
messenger  to  wait  for  an  answer.  He  returned  after 
an  absence  of  several  hours,  and  reported  :  "  I  asked 
the  gentleman  for  an  answer,  and  he  slammed  the 
door  in  my  face.  Then  I  waited  outside  till  dinner 
time  !  " 

Tuesday,  Wednesday,  passed.  I  forbore  to  annoy 
Mr.  Stanton.  It  was  not  my  will  to  accept  anything 
against  another's  will.  Herr  Alvary  might  go  to  — 
France  for  me !  I  should  certainly  not  humble 
myself  to  him.  In  the  meantime,  Dr.  Doremus 
tried  again  and  again  in  vain.  Thursday !  No 
Alvary,  no  whistler  !  A  pretty  way  indeed  to  treat  a 
confiding  public  buying  tickets  to  hear  both  of  them ! 

Finally  I  broke  down.  I  wrote  to  the  naughty 
boy,  and  wrote  to  his  heart.  I  said  in  conclusion, 
"  While  you  hesitate,  my  countrymen  are  dying." 
He  had  a  heart  and  I  found  it.  I  received  a  prompt 
answer:  — 

"  MADAME  PRYOR  :  — 

"  I  will  sing  for  you  Friday,  and  I  will  sing  as  often  as  the 
audience  wishes.  I  am  sorry  for  the  sorrow  I  gave  you, 
but  —  Madame  Pryor,  you  know  the  human  voice  was 
never  meant  for  whistling  ! 

O 

"  Your  humble, 

"  MAX  ALVARY." 

The  concert  was  fine.  He  sang  as  never  before, 
returning  again  and  again  in  response  to  the  enthusi 
astic  recalls  of  the  large  audience.  Mrs.  Sylvanus 
Reed,  who  was  one  of  my  patronesses  on  all  my 
programmes,  brought  with  her  twenty  or  more  of 


436  My  Day 

the  young  ladies  of  her  school.  I  had  not  required 
evening  dress,  but  from  my  lofty  seat  in  the  sky 
gallery  I  looked  down  upon  hundreds  of  the  flower- 
decked  heads  of  my  dear  American  fellow-women. 

After  Alvary's  last  number,  he  appeared  in  a  side 
aisle,  sweeping  the  galleries  with  his  opera-glass. 
"  Mamma/'  said  my  daughter  Fanny,  "  that  man  is 
looking  for  you  !  "  "  He'll  not  find  me,"  I  assured 
her  ;  "  he  never  saw  me."  "  But  a  man  who  has  seen 
you  is  with  him  and  is  helping  him  !  "  Sure  enough, 
the  double  barrels  were  soon  focussed  upon  me  in 
my  eyrie,  and  Alvary,  in  an  impressive  manner,  waved 
his  hand,  laid  it  upon  his  heart,  and  thrice  bowed 
low. 

But  this  was  not  the  last  time  I  saw  my  naughty, 
bonny  boy  Alvary.  I  was  bidden  once  to  spend 
my  day  as  pleased  me  best,  as  it  was  my  birthday, 
and  I  elected  to  see  "  Siegfried."  I  tied  my  card 
to  some  violets  and  threw  them  at  the  feet  of  the 
then  greatest  tenor  in  the  world,  and  he  recognized 
the  tribute.  Many  were  the  lovely  letters  I  received 
after  this  delightful  concert,  one  most  charming  from 
my  dear  old  friend,  William  C.  Rives. 

But  the  blessed  frost  soon  came  to  do  more  for 
the  stricken  city  than  I  could  do.  I  reopened, 
cleansed,  and  refurnished  St.  Luke's  Hospital,  sent 
nearly  a  thousand  dollars  to  Sister  Mary  Ann  to  re 
habilitate  the  Catholic  Hospital,  and  a  similar  sum 
to  the  Jacksonville  Orphanage.  Governor  Perry 
sent  a  committee  all  the  way  from  Florida  to  thank 
me,  letters  poured  in  from  distant  friends,  the  papers 
said  lovely  things  about  my  effort.  (f  Who  is  the 


My  Day  437 

best  theatrical  manager  in  New  York  ?  "  was  asked 
of  A.  M.  Palmer.  "Well,"  he  replied,  "  if  you 
wish  a  true  answer,  I  should  say  Mrs.  Pryor ! " 

In  a  time  of  national  disaster  no  other  city  in  the 
world  responds  as  does  New  York.  Witness  the  Gal- 
veston  flood,  when  one  bazaar  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
managing  yielded  $ 51,000  —  witness  the  San  Fran 
cisco  earthquake !  Every  heart  is  warmed  with 
sympathy  —  every  hand  open,  when  real  trouble,  real 
disaster,  overtakes  any  ,part  of  our  country.  And 
nowhere  do  we  find  a  quicker  response  than  among 
actors,  who  are  rarely,  if  ever,  rich,  and  never  lead,  as 
others  do,  a  life  of  ease. 

The  letters  I  received  from  the  New  York  women 
who  had  so  nobly  stood  by  me  and  helped  me  were, 
for  a  long  time,  delightful  reading.  They  are  still 
cherished  as  a  reward  second  only  to  the  crowning 
reward  —  the  relief  of  suffering  —  which  has  com 
forted  me  all  along  the  subsequent  years  of  my  life. 
They  are  noble,  generous  letters,  and  I  wish  I  could 
give  them  here,  every  one,  as  models  of  beautiful 
letters  as  well.  One,  from  the  gifted  Mrs.  Vincenzo 
Botta,  is  an  example  of  the  rest :  — 

"  25  EAST  37TH  STREET,  December  13. 
"  DEAR  MRS.  PRYOR  :  — 

I  congratulate  you  most  warmly  on  the  success  of  your 
movement  in  the  relief  of  our  Jacksonville  citizens,  for 
it  is  you  alone  who  have  been  the  moving  and  animating 
force  of  it  all.  It  will  be  a  pleasant  thing  for  you  to  re 
member  always,  and  for  us,  too,  who  have  followed  your 
lead,  though  so  far  behind.  It  will  not  be  possible  for  me 
to  take  the  place  on  the  committee  to  which  you  appoint 


438  My  Day 

me.  Do  take  it  yourself,  dear  Mrs.  Pryor !  You  ought  to 
do  so.  Now  the  burden  of  this  work  is  over,  you  should 
not  give  it  into  other  hands.  So  I  beg  you  earnestly  to 
take  my  place. 

"  Ever  cordially  yours, 

"ANNIE    C.    L.    BOTTA." 

It  had  been  suggested  that  the  committee  which 
had  exhibited  so  much  ability  should  not  disband, 
but  remain  as  a  permanent  organization  for  the  re 
lief  of  sudden  national  disaster.  I  had  wished  to 
see  Mrs.  Botta  at  the  head  of  this  committee. 

We  finally,  to  our  regret  ever  since,  elected  to 
disband.  When  I  rendered  my  report  and  bade  my 
dear  co-workers  adieu,  I  told  them  some  pleasant 
truths.  Every  banner  and  every  blossom  had  been 
given  us.  The  American  District  Telegraph  Com 
pany  had  made  no  charge  for  service  —  messengers 
sent  me  daily  to  await  orders. 

The  press  had  been  very  generous  to  us.  For 
advertising  our  entertainments,  all  charges  were  re 
mitted  by  the  Tribune,  Herald,  Sun,  and  other  papers. 
The  editors  of  sixteen  New  York  papers  gave  us 
unstinted  praise  and  encouragement.  If  they  per 
ceived  cause  for  criticism,  they  withheld  it.  They 
helped  us  in  every  way,  and  rejoiced  our  hearts  by 
the  sweet  reward  of  approbation.  They  said  that 
we  were  "  a  band  of  self-denying  and  gifted  women, 
who  add  another  to  the  roll  of  gracious  achievements 
which  do  honor  to  piety  and  womanhood." 

We  could  not  follow  our  work  in  the  little  towns 
of  Florida,  by  the  cot  of  the  poor  negro  or  the  home 
of  the  widow  and  orphan  and  destitute.  It  should 


My  Day  439 

be  enough  for  us  to  know  that  through  us  some 
cooling  influence  reached  their  fevered  brows,  that 
suitable  food  and  clothing  was  found  for  them,  that 
their  hearts  were  cheered  in  a  dark  hour  by  per 
ceiving  that  they  were  not  forgotten  or  friendless. 
We  were  told  that  our  alms  for  the  orphans  were  in 
response  to  the  dying  prayers  of  mothers  (a  little 
band  of  New  York  children  elected  to  become  the 
guardian  angels  of  one  of  these  hapless  orphans),  and 
we  learned  that  our  gift  to  the  Catholic  sisters  was 
larger  than  any  they  received  from  any  other  source. 
We  were  assured  that  comfort  was  restored,  pure 
conduits  for  water  constructed,  and  good  food  and 
clothing  provided  for  the  Protestant  orphans.  We 
reopened  the  hospital,  needed  more  than  ever  in 
Jacksonville,  and  about  to  be  closed  for  want  of 
money.  All  this  was  much  reward,  and  we  could 
add  to  it  our  own  grateful  consciousness  of  having 
done  a  noble  and  worthy  deed. 

I  shall  ever  feel  the  deepest  gratitude  for  my  sup 
port  in  this  charity ;  for  the  gift  of  beloved  and 
honored  names,  —  names  never  withheld  from  a 
noble  cause,  —  for  generous  forbearance  towards  my 
self,  and  for  many  words  of  approbation  and  en 
couragement.  My  heart  is  full  of  gratitude,  and 
full  also  of  all  "  good  wishes,  praise,  and  prayers  " 
for  the  noble  band  of  players  who  made  the  great 
work  possible. 

"  The  little  band  "  of  children  who  elected  to  be 
come  the  guardians  of  one  orphan  was  the  Morning- 
side  Club,  their  president  a  very  lovely  little  girl  — 
Renee  Coudert. 


CHAPTER   XLII 

IN  the  autumn  of  1900  a  strange  disaster  befell 
the  beautiful  city  of  Galveston.  A  mighty  wave 
lifted  its  crest  far  out  at  sea  and  marched  straight 
on  until  it  engulfed  the  city.  It  all  happened  sud 
denly,  in  a  night.  Thousands  of  men,  women,  and 
children  perished.  Hundreds  of  babies  were  born 
that  night,  and  picked  up  alive,  floating  on  the  little 
mattresses  to  which  drowning  mothers  had  con 
signed  them.  The  Catholic  sisters  and  their  orphan 
charges  all  perished.  The  Protestant  Orphan  Asy 
lum,  on  higher  ground,  had  been  built  around  its 
first  room,  and  in  this  central  chamber  the  children 
were  gathered,  and  spent  the  night  in  singing  their 
little  hymns.  The  outer  rooms  received  the  shock 
of  the  waves,  but  this  small  sanctuary  remained 
intact.  For  many  days  after  the  waters  subsided, 
children  were  found  wandering  in  the  streets  —  some 
did  not  know  their  own  names,  others  anxiously 
questioned  the  passer-by  —  "  Where  is  my  mother  ? 
Have  you  found  my  papa  yet  ? " 

The  country  rushed  to  the  rescue,  not  to  save  — 
it  was  too  late  —  but  to  succor  the  homeless,  relieve 
the  destitute. 

I  was  summoned  one  morning  to  my  reception- 
room,  where  I  found  a  committee  awaiting  me  from 
one  of  the  large  newspapers  in  New  York.  They 
bore  a  message  from  the  proprietor  and  editor  to 

440 


My  Day  441 

the  effect  that  he  wished  to  open  a  great  bazaar  for 
the  relief  of  Galveston,  and  begged  I  would  consent 
to  manage  it.  My  success  for  Jacksonville  had 
brought  me  this  honor. 

I  saw  at  once  that  I  had  an  opportunity  to  ac 
complish  great  good.  I  also  realized  the  difficulties 
I  should  have  to  encounter.  The  bazaar  was  to  be 
worked  up  from  the  beginning,  and  three  weeks 
were  allowed  me  for  the  task.  My  personal  influence 
in  gaining  patronage  and  material  could  not  be 
great  —  and  newspaper  influence  was  an  unknown 
quantity  to  me.  However,  "  nothing  venture  noth 
ing  have."  The  very  fact  of  difficulty  stimulated 
me,  and  I  consented. 

Accordingly,  next  day  I  repaired  to  my  "place  of 
business,"  a  room  in  the  Waldorf  Astoria,  and  found 
myself  equipped  with  stenographers,  typewriters 
and  type-writing  machines,  a  desk  for  myself,  a  desk 
for  my  assisting  manager,  and  plenty  of  pens,  ink, 
and  paper.  After  a  rapid  consultation,  a  plan  of  pro 
cedure  was  adopted :  we  must  have  influential 
patronesses,  we  must  have  competent  managers  for 
fifteen  booths,  and  enlist  in  our  service  willing  hearts 
and  hands  to  solicit  contributions  of  material.  This 
was  a  great  work,  but  we  set  about  it  with  energy. 
Our  troubles  soon  arose  from  the  number  of  offers  of 
assistance  which  poured  in  upon  us,  and  the  difficulty 
of  selection.  Committees  were  out  of  the  question. 
There  was  no  time  for  any  such  machinery.  To 
avoid  delay  and  complications,  I  was  appointed  a 
committee  of  one ;  a  die  of  my  signature  was  cut, 
and  everything  relative  to  the  booths  passed  under 


442  My  Day 

my  own  supervision  —  every  paper  was  signed  with 
my  name,  every  appointment  made  by  me.  Our 
one-room  office  was  soon  too  small,  and  three  more 
rooms  added  to  it,  one  for  Mrs.  Vivian's  exclusive 
use,  that  she  might  try  the  voices  of  the  singers 
who  offered  their  services  and  decide  upon  the 
respective  merits  of  the  numbers  of  musicians  who 
generously  proffered  help. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  of  the  splendid  work  my 
assistants  accomplished  —  Mrs.  Donald  McLean, 
Mrs.  John  G.  Carlisle,  good  "Aunt  Louisa  El- 
dridge,"  the  actress,  Mrs.  Timothy  Woodruff,  Mrs. 
Gielow,  Mrs.  Marie  Cross  Newhaus,  Mrs.  Wads- 
worth  Vivian,  Helen  Gardiner,  the  authoress,  Mrs. 
John  Wyeth,  Miss  Florence  Guernsey  —  and  many 
others.  With  such  a  staff  success  was  assured. 

But  I  knew  well  this  city  of  New  York.  I  must 
have  prestige.  I  must  have  "  stars,"  and  bright  ones, 
on  my  list  of  patronesses.  To  secure  them,  at  a  sea 
son  when  many  people  of  social  prominence  were  in 
Europe,  or  at  country  places,  required  numbers  of 
letters  and  much  time.  Finally  I  made  a  bold  dash  for 
distinction.  I  remembered  that  John  Van  Buren,  when 
asked  how  he  could  dare  propose  marriage  to  Queen 
Victoria,  replied,  "  I  supposed  she  would  say  c  no  '  — 
but  then  she  might  say  'yes."  I  telegraphed  her 
Majesty,  laid  the  cause  of  the  Galveston  orphans  at 
her  feet,  and  craved  a  word  of  sympathy  in  the  effort 
I  was  making  for  their  relief.  Fate  was  kinder  to 
me  than  to  Mr.  Van  Buren.  She  said  "  yes."  She 
did  sympathize,  and  "  commanded/'  from  Balmoral, 
that  I  be  so  informed.  I  then  telegraphed  the  Prin- 


My  Day  443 

cess  Alexandra,  and  she  answered  most  graciously  from 
Fredensborg.  I  then  secured  as  patronesses  for  the 
bazaar  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  the  Dowager 
Duchess  of  Maryborough,  Mrs.  Cornwallis  West, 
the  Baroness  Burdett-Coutts,  Lady  Somerset,  Lady 
Aberdeen,  Madame  Loubet,  Madame  Diaz,  wife  of 
the  Mexican  President,  Madame  Aspiroz,  wife  of 
the  Mexican  Ambassador.  All  of  these  noble 
ladies  sent  personal  answers,  and  many  of  them 
sums  of  money.  Sir  Thomas  Lipton  heard  of  the 
bazaar  and  sent  from  England,  unsolicited,  #500. 

To  this  foreign  list  I  was  able  to  add  a  large 
number  of  the  New  York  names  best  known  and 
most  highly  esteemed  with  us.  With  such  guar 
antee  for  the  "  tone"  of  the  bazaar,  I  was  assured  of 
patronage. 

When  the  opening  night  arrived,  however,  I  was 
possessed  with  a  sickening  fear  lest  there  should  be 
no  audience.  A  fairy  village  of  booths  filled  the 
great  ball-room  at  the  Waldorf  Astoria,  and  the 
generous  merchants  of  New  York  had  enriched  them 
with  rare  and  beautiful  things.  Mr.  Edward  Moran 
gave  one  of  his  famous  marines.  President  Diaz 
sent  a  bronze  group  from  the  Paris  Exposition,  rep 
resenting  a  reaper  with  his  sickle  —  his  two  daughters 
binding  his  sheaves.  Mr.  Stanley  McCormick  pur 
chased  this  for  the  office  in  Chicago  of  the  McCormick 
reaper.  Rich  furs,  tiger  rugs,  opera-cloaks,  ladies* 
hats,  silverware,  watches,  jewels,  bicycles,  a  grand 
piano,  and  an  automobile  were  included  in  our  col 
lection.  I  had  written  General  Miles  requesting  him 
to  open  the  bazaar,  and  he  had  come  from  Washing- 


444  My  Day 

ton  with  Mrs.  Miles.  When  I  arrived  on  the  open 
ing  night  I  was  conducted  to  the  small  ball-room, 
where  I  found  ten  or  more  major-generals  in  full 
uniform,  Governor  Sayre  from  Texas,  Mr.  Aspiroz, 
the  Mexican  Ambassador,  who  had  come  from  Wash 
ington  to  bring  us  the  present  from  President  and 
Mrs.  Diaz,  and  ladies  of  their  company.  On  General 
Miles's  arm,  attended  by  these  distinguished  men  and 
their  wives,  we  proceeded  through  crowds  of  specta 
tors  to  the  lower  ball-room.  When  I  entered,  I 
found  three  thousand  people  already  assembled! 
The  head  of  the  armies  of  the  United  States  received 
a  magnificent  welcome.  From  Mrs.  Astor's  box  he 
made  the  opening  address,  followed  by  a  most  touch 
ing  narrative  from  Governor  Sayre.  My  dear  Mrs. 
Carlisle  appeared  in  the  box  with  a  lovely  wreath 
of  laurel  for  General  Miles.  But  I  cannot  describe 
the  scene.  Nothing  like  this  bazaar  has  ever  been 
seen  in  New  York.  There  have  been  others  —  but 
without  the  cachet  of  military  rank  at  home  and 
royalty  abroad.  Telegrams  from  Mrs.  McKinley; 
letter  and  a  splendid  silver  present  from  Admiral 
and  Mrs.  Dewey ;  letter  and  present  of  rare  em 
broidery  from  petite  Madame  Wu  of  the  Chinese 
Embassy;  letter  and  present  of  a  silver  flask  from 
Madame  Dreyfus,  —  these  and  many  similar  incidents 
cheered  us  in  the  hour  of  our  triumph  —  an  hour, 
too,  of  great  bodily  weariness. 

We  rang  down  our  curtain  with  eclat  —  our  own 
Mark  Twain  just  off  his  home-coming  steamship 
responding  at  once  to  my  letter  of  invitation,  and 
making  a  happy  speech.  From  my  seat  in  the  low 


My  Day  445 

box  I  looked  down  upon  the  faces  of  my  sons 
Roger  and  Willy,  who  seemed  in  anxious  conference 
on  some  subject.  They  gave  me  an  encouraging 
nod.  I  found  they  knew,  as  I  did  not,  that  a  com 
mittee  was  coming  along  the  gallery  to  give  me 
flowers,  pin  an  emblem  on  my  bosom,  say  dear 
things  about  my  work.  They  were  anxious  lest 
their  tired  mother  should  prove  unequal  to  the 
short  speech  of  thanks  demanded  of  her. 

We  sent  $51,000  to  Galveston !  I  was  per 
mitted  to  select  a  special  object  for  this  large  sum. 
I  suggested  the  building  of  an  orphan  asylum  in 
which  should  be  gathered  all  homeless  orphan  chil 
dren,  irrespective  of  creed  or  country. 

Within  a  year  the  asylum  was  erected,  furnished, 
and  the  hapless  children  gathered  under  its  shelter. 
The  mover  in  this  grand  charity  said  he  could  never 
have  accomplished  it  without  me  —  I  could  have 
done  nothing  without  him  !  He  had  his  friends. 
He  also  had  his  enemies,  who  rated  his  charity  as  an 
"  advertisement."  Of  all  this  I  know  nothing ;  but 
I  do  know  that  this  Orphan  Asylum  in  Galveston 
was  a  grand  and  noble  work ;  and  my  old  and  val 
ued  friend,  Mrs.  Phoebe  Hearst,  has  reason  to  be 
grateful  that  it  was  given  to  her  son  to  build  it. 
"  What  can  we  do  for  you  ? "  was  asked  of  me  by 
one  of  the  managers  at  its  opening.  "  Nothing,"  I 
answered;  "  the  work  is  its  own  reward.  But  in  the 
daily  prayers  of  your  orphan  children,  let  them  ask 
God's  blessing  upon  all  those  who  helped  to  give 
this  home  to  His  homeless,  children." 

God,  I    humbly   trust,  did  so  bless   them  all  — 


446  My  Day 

the  eighty-year-old  woman  on  the  Pacific  slope  who 
sent  a  kerchief  of  her  own  making ;  the  noble  ladies 
across  the  Atlantic  who  promptly  gave  their  honored 
names  and  their  money ;  the  little  boy  whose  curly 
head  I  could  see,  moving  among  the  crowd  solicit 
ing  pennies  for  the  orphans ;  the  good  woman  whose 
head  had  grown  gray  beneath  the  crown  of  Eng 
land. 

But  especially  I  wish,  I  pray,  all  blessings  for  the 
band  of  dear  women  who,  coming  often  in  rain  and 
storm,  worked  with  me  from  morning  until  night 
to  help  build  a  shelter  for  Galveston's  homeless 
orphans. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

TH  E  years  which  had  brought  me  such  interest 
ing  work  were  full  years  also  to  my  dear  gen 
eral.  In  June,  1 88$,  he  delivered  an  address 
to  the  graduating  class  at  the  Albany  Law  School  — 
an  address  so  inspiring,  so  highly  commended  at  the 
time,  that  it  should  not  be  lost.  He  had  been  all 
his  life  intimately  acquainted  with  the  great  legal 
lights  abroad.  They  had  given  him  his  first  aspira 
tions,  and  been  his  inspired  teachers  ever  after. 
And  yet  he  could  truthfully  tell  the  American  stu 
dent  :  — 

"  Nor  need  we  travel  abroad  for  examples  and 
illustrations  of  forensic  oratory  in  its  highest  perfec 
tion  ;  for  in  the  sublime  passion  of  Patrick  Henry, 
in  the  gorgeous  vehemence  of  Choate,  in  the  brilliant 
and  abounding  fancy  of  Prentiss,  and  in  the  majestic 
simplicity  of  Webster,  we  find  at  home  every  beauty 
and  every  power  of  eloquence  displayed  with  an 
effect  not  interior  to  the  achievements  of  the  mighty 
masters  of  antiquity."* 

Diligently  as  he  studied  his  profession,  he  found 
time  for  lighter,  but  not  perhaps  really  more  conge 
nial,  occupations.  From  time  to  time  he  addressed 
college  societies  on  literary  themes.  He  wrote  for 
the  North  American  /fcriVsr,  the  Fwitflt,  and  the 
"  Encyclopedia  Britannica."  Like  his  public  ad 
dresses,  his  writing  was  said  to  display  ripe  scholar- 

447 


448  My  Day 

ship  and  a  clear,  polished  style.  The  highest  note 
was  never  too  high  for  him  ! 

He  would  have  had  to  be  "  made  all  over  again/' 
had  he  felt  no  interest  in  politics.  He  was  born, 
as  he  often  declared,  "  a  Presbyterian  and  a  Demo 
crat,"  and  he  never  faltered  in  allegiance  to  either. 
"  Oh,  God  guide  us  aright,"  prayed  a  member  of  the 
body  that  framed  the  Westminster  Catechism,  "for 
thou  knowest  we  are  very  determined."  Having  set  out 
in  one  direction,  the  worthy  brother  doubted  the 
power  of  the  Almighty  himself  to  alter  his  course  ! 

Although  my  Husband  refrained  from  political 
talk  or  discussion,  he  was  glad  to  be  sent  to  the 
convention  that  nominated  Mr.  Tilden.  But  prob 
ably  his  first  conspicuous  appearance  on  the  politi 
cal  theatre  was  the  Gubernatorial  Convention  at 
Syracuse,  of  which  he  drew  the  platform,  and  which 
resulted  in  the  candidacy  of  Mr.  Cleveland.  That 
platform  was  acknowledged  to  have  aided  materially 
in  the  election  of  Mr.  Cleveland.  Its  author's  ad 
dress  in  presenting  it  was  much  applauded. 

Just  as  I  closed  my  Jacksonville  work,  my  gen 
eral  argued  and  won  his  great  Sugar  Trust  case. 
"  Had  he  done  nothing  else,"  said  one  whose  word 
means  much,  "  he  could  point  to  this  case  as  an 
enduring  monument."  His  rapid  rise  to  fame  at 
the  bar  is  well  known.  "  His  legal  victories  would 
make  a  long  list,"  says  a  contemporary  writer,  "  but 
he  never  shrank  from  a  suit  because  it  was  unpopu 
lar  or  because  the  legal  odds  were  many  against  its 
success,  however  just  it  might  be.  His  deep  knowl 
edge  of  law,  his  readiness  of  resource,  his  care  in 


My  Day  449 

preparing  his  case,  his  unfailing  good  humor,  his 
pluck,  ardor,  and  clearness  in  pleading,  have  made 
him  influential  and  successful  in  the  courts."  Be 
ginning  with  the  Tilton-Beecher  suit,  he  was  coun 
sel  in  the  Morey  Letter  case  and  the  Holland 
murder  trial.  He  was  also  engaged  in  the  suits 
against  Governor  Sprague  in  Rhode  Island,  and 
the  Ames  impeachment  proceedings  in  Mississippi. 
He  was  the  first  to  win  a  suit  against  the  Elevated 
Railroad  Company  for  damages  to  adjoining  prop 
erty.  He  was  also  counsel  in  the  Hoyt  will  case, 
the  Chicago  anarchist  trials,  and  now  in  the  Sugar 
Trust  suit,  in  which  he  was  successful  in  the  New 
York  City  courts  as  well  as  in  the  Court  of  Appeals. 
At  the  time  of  his  direst  distress  he  refused  a  suit 
against  the  good  Peter  Cooper. 

It  was  in  1889  that  my  husband  suggested  and 
conducted  the  suit  against  the  Sugar  Trust,  the  first 
litigation  in  any  court  or  any  state  against  combina 
tions  in  restraint  of  trade  ;  and  as  he  was  successful 
against  powerful  opposition,  he  acquired  a  prestige 
which  was  the  immediate  occasion  of  his  appointment 
to  the  bench. 

On  October  9,  1890,  Mr.  John  Russell  Young 
gave  a  dinner  in  his  honor  at  the  Astor  House  — 
a  dinner  notable  for  the  number  of  distinguished 
guests.  Among  them,  Hon.  Grover  Cleveland, 
General  Sherman,  General  Sickles,  Henry  George, 
Daniel  Dougherty,  Daniel  Lamont,  W.  J.  Florence, 
Mark  Twain,  John  B.  Haskin,  Joseph  Jefferson, 
Thomas  Nast,  Judge  Brady,  Judge  Joseph  F.  Daly, 
Murat  Hatsted,  Senator  Hearst,  —  was  ever  such  a 

2G 


450  My  Day 

company  ?  Laying  his  hand  on  my  husband's 
shoulder,  General  Sherman  said  :  "  We  would  have 
done  all  this  for  him  long  ago,  but  he  had  to  be 
such  a  rebel !  " 

He  had  been  appointed  to  fill  the  unexpired  term 
of  a  retiring  judge.  The  next  year  he  came  before 
the  people  for  election,  and  was  chosen  by  a  great 
majority  of  many  thousand  votes  to  be  judge  of 
the  Court  of  Pleas,  and  soon  afterwards  became 
judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  New  York. 

He  was  welcomed  to  the  bench  by  every  possible 
expression  of  cordial  good-will,  confidence,  admira 
tion.  Again  there  was  no  dissenting  voice.  At  a 
celebration,  not  long  after,  of  Grant's  birthday,  he 
was  one  of  those  invited  to  speak,  and  was  thus 
introduced  by  General  Horace  Porter :  "  Gentle 
men,  we  have  a  distinguished  general  here  to-night 
who  fought  with  us  in  the  war  —  but  not  on  the 
same  side.  It  has  been  said  that  it  is  astounding 
how  you  like  a  man  after  you  fight  him  !  That  is 
the  reason  we  have  him  here  to-night  to  give  him  a 
warm  reception.  He  always  gave  us  a  warm  recep 
tion.  He  used  to  take  us,  and  provide  for  us,  and 
was  willing  to  keep  us  out  of  harm's  way  while 
hostilities  lasted  —  unless  sooner  exchanged.  He 
was  always  in  the  front,  and  his  further  appearance 
in  the  front  to-night  is  a  reflection  upon  the  accuracy 
of  our  marksmanship.  Not  knowing  how  to  punish 
him  there,  we  brought  him  up  to  New  York,  and 
sentenced  him  to  fourteen  years'  hard  labor  on  the 
bench." 

He  brought  to  the  bench  the  habits  of  self-denial 


My  Day  451 

and  unremitting  study  he  had  practised  for  twenty 
years.  During  all  that  time,  and  after,  nobody  ever 
saw  him  at  a  place  of  amusement,  theatre,  ball,  or 
opera,  and  very  rarely  at  a  dinner-party.  He  knew 
no  part  of  New  York  except  the  streets  he  traversed 
to  and  from  his  office  or  court  room.  His  brief 
summer  holidays  were  spent  at  the  White  Sulphur 
Springs  in  Virginia,  where  his  studies  continued. 
In  1895  he  there  addressed  the  Virginia  Bar  Asso 
ciation  on  the  influence  of  Virginia  in  the  formation 
of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  I  venture  to  say 
that  whoever  reads  it  in  its  printed  form  will  find 
interesting  historical  facts  not  generally  known.  In 
accordance  with  my  plan  to  permit  his  contem 
poraries  to  tell  the  story  of  his  public  life,  I  copy 
one  testimonial  from  a  Richmond  paper  :  "  Judge 
Pryor  made  a  splendid  address.  It  was  an  ornate, 
learned,  and  eminently  instructive  production,  and 
attested  the  jealous  devotion  of  a  distinguished  son 
of  Virginia  for  the  old  commonwealth,  and  his 
careful  study  of  her  political  history.  It  did  honor 
to  the  gentleman  who  made  the  address  and  to  the 
profession  of  which  he  is  a  shining  light/* 

Whatever  he  wrote  was  always  read  aloud  and 
copied  at  home,  until  my  daughter  Gordon  left  us, 
even  the  legal  arguments  so  dimly  understood  by 
her.  Apart  from  the  technical  difficulties,  she  could 
always  receive  some  impression  from  his  argument, 
and  the  impression  upon  her  singularly  clear,  un 
prejudiced  mind  was  what  he  wished  to  know.  Our 
own  turn  in  reading  aloud  gave  him  a  delicious 
opportunity  to  correct  our  pronunciation.  His  pa- 


452  My  Day 

tience  could  never  brook  a  mispronounced  word  — 
and  alas,  after  Gordon  married  I  found  myself  too 
old  that  I  might  learn.  However,  he  patiently  con 
tinues  to  struggle  with  me. 

Once,  at  the  White  Sulphur  Springs,  a  beautiful 
Virginia  girl  was  under  my  care.  My  general  was 
absorbed,  —  it  was  the  summer  he  made  his  speech, 

—  and  did  not  render  the  homage  to  which  the  pair 
of  blue  eyes  was  accustomed.     "  I  don't  think  the 
judge  likes  me,"  she  complained;  "he  never  has  a 
word    to  say  to  me.     He   looks  as  if  he's  always 
thinking  about  something  else." 

"  Lizzie,"  I  suggested,  "  you  must  mispronounce 
a  word  or  two,  and  we'll  see  what  effect  that  will 
have."  We  put  our  heads  together  and  made  out 
a  list  for  her  to  commit  to  memory.  At  dinner  she 
fastened  her  eye  upon  our  victim,  and  commenced, 

—  offering  a  flower,  —  "  It's  not  very  pretty,  but  the 

perfume',  — "     "I    beg  your    pardon,    Miss , 

per'fume,  accent  on  first   syllable  !  "   he   exclaimed. 
"  Oh,  you're  so  kind,  Judge  !     This  just  illustrates 

"  Illustrate,  my  dear  young  lady! — accent 
on  second  syllable,  but  pray  go  on."  "  I've  never 
had  anybody  to  tell  me  any  of  these  things/'  she 
moaned.  "  If  you  only  would  —  "  "  With  pleas 
ure  !  A  beautiful  young  lady  should  be  perfect  in 
speech,  as  in  all  things."  The  little  minx  played 
her  part  to  perfection.  Presently,  overcome  with 
the  ludicrous  situation,  she  excused  herself,  and  my 
dear  innocent  remarked,  as  his  admiring  eyes  fol 
lowed  her,  "  An  uncommonly  sensible  girl  that !  " 
I  enjoyed  a  bit  of  newspaper  gossip  about  this 


My  Day  453 

peculiarity  of  my  dear  general.  A  physician  was 
testifying  before  him  in  a  malpractice  case,  and  re 
peatedly  used  the  word  "pare'sis,"  accenting  the 
second  syllable.  The  judge  exhibited  extreme  rest 
lessness,  and  finally  ventured,  "  Excuse  me  —  the 
word  you  mean  is  possibly  par'esis  ?  "  As  the  wit 
ness  proceeded,  the  offence  was  repeated  and  again 
corrected.  "  Now,  your  Honor,"  said  the  offender, 
"  I  concede  all  wisdom  to  the  bench  in  legal  matters, 
but  I  am  a  physician,  and  in  the  profession  the  word 
is  pare'sis."  "  It  is  par'esis  in  my  court,"  was  the 
decision  promptly  handed  down,  with  an  emphasis 
that  forbade  appeal. 

I  am  sorry  I  cannot  record  his  services  to  his 
country  and  his  profession  during  the  seven  years 
before  he  was  overtaken  by  the  age-limit  prescribed 
by  New  York  law  —  his  championship  of  maligned 
women,  his  decision  that  divorce  cases  should 
not  be  tried  secretly  but  must  be  held  in  open 
court  —  now  become  a  law  —  his  restriction  of 
the  right  of  naturalization  to  at  least  knowledge 
of  the  English  language.  I  cannot  go  into 
these  learned  subjects  as  I  trust  some  one  of 
the  profession  will  do  some  day.  I  only  record 
that  my  dear  general,  as  was  conceded  by  every  one, 
fulfilled  the  sacred  trust  —  "  he  was  a  father  to  the 
poor,  and  the  cause  that  he  knew  not  he  searched 


out." 


This  public  recognition  of  his  ability  and  worth, 
with  its  opportunity  for  larger  usefulness,  came  at 
last  as  the  crown  of  his  long  and  heroic  struggle.  The 
war  had  left  him  with  nothing  but  a  ragged  uniform, 


454  My  Day 

his  sword,  a  wife,  and  seven  children,  —  his  health, 
his  occupation,  his  place  in  the  world,  gone ;  his 
friends  and  comrades  slain  in  battle ;  his  Southern 
home  impoverished  and  desolate.  He  had  no  profes 
sion,  no  rights  as  a  citizen,  no  ability  to  hold  office. 
That  he  conquered  the  fate  which  threatened  to  de 
stroy  him,  —  and  conquered  it  through  the  apprecia 
tion  awarded  by  his  sometime  enemies,  —  is  a  strik 
ing  illustration  of  the  possibilities  afforded  by  our 
country ;  where  not  only  can  the  impoverished 
refugee  from  other  lands  find  fortune  and  happiness, 
but  where  her  own  sons,  prostrate  and  ruined  after  a 
dreadful  fratricidal  strife,  can  bind  their  wounds, 
take  up  their  lives  again,  and  finally  win  reward  for 
their  labors. 


BY  MRS.  ROGER  A.  PRYOR 

Reminiscences  of  Peace  and  War 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  crown  8vo,  $2.00  net 

11  Few  persons  now  living  had  a  better  opportunity  to  be  in,  and  a  part  of, 
the  life  of  the  national  capital  and  mingle  with  its  social  and  political  lead 
ers  during  that  period  when  the  war  clouds  were  gathering  to  burst  in  1861 
than  Mrs.  Roger  A.  Pryor.  Still  fewer  could  have  had  the  power  to  absorb 
the  vital  and  charming  side  of  it,  and  to  record  it  so  entertainingly  as  she 
has  done.  She  was  not  only  a  keen  observer  of  all  that  transpired  during 
those  memorable  days,  but  the  manner  in  which  she  has  recorded  her  rec 
ollections  is  done  with  charming  grace.  It  is  a  pathetic  story  of  woman's 
heroism  and  devotion,  sad  and  amusing  by  turns,  and  always  interesting. 
It  is  told  in  a  modest  way  by  one  who  bravely  faced  every  deprivation  and 
returned  to  her  desolate  home  with  a  cheery,  hopeful  spirit  which  manifests 
itself  in  every  page,  as  it  did  in  the  days  following  the  war  when  by  her  self- 
sacrifice  she  aided  her  husband  to  attain,  in  the  face  of  great  odds,  eminent 
rank  in  the  bar  and  bench  of  New  York."  —  Boston  Herald. 

"  Nothing  which  has  yet  been  produced  excels  in  charm  of  style,  in  tem 
perate  and  modern  statement  of  facts,  and  in  vivid  portrayal  of  social  char 
acteristics  and  incidents  of  private  and  military  life  than  the  thoroughly 
delightful  book  of  reminiscences  just  completed  by  Mrs.  Roger  A  Pryor. 
Mrs.  Pryor's  narrative  .  .  .  gives  a  wealth  of  information,  which  is  essen 
tial  to  the  true  understanding  of  history,  and  in  a  shape  that  must  charm 
and  delight  the  reader.  Americans  who  would  see  the  full  conditions  of 
the  South  in  its  great  crisis  have  been  placed  under  a  debt  of  lasting  obli 
gation  to  the  talented  author  of  'Reminiscences  of  Peace  and  War.'  "  — 
Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

The  Birth  of  the  Nation :  Jamestown,  J607 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  8vo,  $1.75  net 

"  No  better  book  could  be  found  to  give  a  lively  impression  of  the  early 
days  of  the  seventeenth  century." —  The  Outlook. 

"  She  has  weighed  the  reputations  of  men  in  the  balance,  and  one  feels  that 
her  judgment  is  equally  just  and  sympathetic."  —  The  New  York  Times. 

The  Mother  of  Washington  and  Her  Times 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  8vo,  $2.50  net 

"Although  it  is  written  along  strictly  historical  lines  it  is  more  fascinating 
than  any  novel.  .  .  .  The  illustrations  of  the  volume  are  many  and  beau 
tiful,  particularly  the  portraits  in  color" —  Boston,  Transcript. 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


A  Selected  List  of  Biographies  and  Autobiographies 


ACTON,   (LORD)  J.  E.   E. 

Letters  to  Mary  Gladstone,  with  Memoir  by  H.  Paul 

Illustrated.    Cloth,  8vo,  $3.00  net 
ALLINGHAM,  WILLIAM 

A  Diary 

Edited  by  H.  Allingham  and  D.  Radford. 

Cloth,  8vo,  $3.75  net 

ARBLAY,  MADAME  D' 

Diary,  Life,  and  Letters  of  Madame  d'Arblay 

Cloth,  8vo,  $15.00  net 
BISMARCK 

Some  Secret  Pages  of  his  History 

By  M.  Busch. 

Portraits.    Cloth,  8vo,  $10.00  net 

BROWN,  DR.  JOHN 

Letters  of  Dr.  John  Brown 

Edited  by  his  son  and  D.  W.  Forrest. 

Cloth,  8vo,  $4.00  net 

CHURCHILL,  LORD  RANDOLPH 
Life  of  Lord  Randolph  Churchill 

By  W.  Spencer  Churchill. 

Two  Volumes.    Portraits  and  Illustrations.    8vo,  $0.00  net 

DUMAS,  ALEXANDRE 
My  Memoirs 

Translated  by  E.  M.  Waller. 

Six  Volumes.    Illustrated.    Cloth,  I2mo,  each  $1.75  net 

ELLSWORTH,  OLIVER 

The  Life  of  Oliver  Ellsworth 

By  William  Garrott  Brown. 

Illustrated.    Cloth,  8vo,  $2.00  net 


EVELYN,  JOHN 

Diary  and  Correspondence  of  John  Evelyn 

Edited  by  Austin  Dobson. 

Three  Volumes.     Illustrated.    Cloth,  8vo,  $8.00  net 

FRANKLIN,  BENJAMIN 

Life  and  Writings  of  Benjamin  Franklin 

Edited  by  A.  H.  Smyth. 

Ten  Volumes.    Illustrated.    Cloth,  I2mo,  $15.00  net 

GLADSTONE,  W.  E. 

The  Life  of  W.  E.  Gladstone 

By  John  Morley. 

Three  Volumes.    Portraits.     Cloth,  8vo,  $10.50  net 
Same  in  Half  Morocco,  $17.50  net 
HAYNE,  ROBERT  Y. 

Robert  Y.  Hayne  and  His  Times 

By  Theodore  D.  Jervey. 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  8vo,  $3.00  net 

HOHENLOHE-SCHILLINGSFUERST,  PRINCE  OF 
The  Memoirs  of  Prince  Chlodwig  of  Hohenlohe 

Authorized  by  Prince  Alexander  of  Hohenlohe.    Edited  by  F.  Curtius. 

Two  Volumes.    Cloth,  8vo,  $6.00  net 
IRVING,  SIR  HENRY 

Personal  Reminiscences  of  Sir  Henry  Irving 

By  Bram  Stoker. 

Two  Volumes.    Illustrated.    Cloth,  8vo,  $7.50  net 

LINCOLN,  ABRAHAM 

Abraham  Lincoln  :  The  Man  of  the  People 

By  Norman  Hapgood. 

Illustrated.    Cloth,  8vo,  $2.00  net 

Abraham  Lincoln  :  The  Boy  and  the  Man 

By  James  Morgan. 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  I2mo,  $1.50  net 


O'BRIEN,  WILLIAM 
Recollections 

Cloth,  8vo,  $3.50  net 
RIIS,  JACOB  A. 

The  Making  of  an  American 

An  Autobiography. 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  I2mo,  $1.50  net 

ROOSEVELT,  THEODORE 

Theodore  Roosevelt :  The  Boy  and  the  Man 

By  Tames  Morgan. 

Illustrated.     Cloth,  I2mo,  $1.50  net 

SHAKESPEARE,  WILLIAM 
Life  of  William  Shakespeare 

By  Sidney  Lee. 

Cloth,  I2mo,  $2.25  net 

Shakespeare  :  Poet,  Dramatist,  and  Man 

By  Hamilton  W.  Mabie. 

Illustrated.    Cloth,  8vo,  $2.00  net 

WESLEY,  JOHN 

The  Life  of  John  Wesley 

By  Caleb  T.  Winchester. 

Illustrated.    Cloth,  8vo,  $1.50  net 

WHIPPLE,  HENRY  B. 

Lights  and  Shadows  of  a  Long  Episcopate 

Cloth,  8vo,  $2.50  net 
WOLFF,   (SIR)  HENRY  D. 
Rambling  Recollections 

Two  Volumes.    Cloth,  8vo,  $7.50  net 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


FEB9    1973 


CD  LIBRARY 


DEC  1 1  REC'D 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-70m-9,'65(F7151s4)458 


N2  430230 

E415.7 

Pryor,    S.A.R.  P69 

My  day. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


